


Where It's Safe

by 3rdstarksistr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Guns, Past Abuse, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark - Freeform, Sexual Abuse, Statutory Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3rdstarksistr/pseuds/3rdstarksistr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is on the run and ends up hitch-hiking with Trucker!Hound set in modern U.S. </p><p>Petyr/Sansa is ongoing statutory rape - no scenes, but Sansa summarizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

On the road through Florida - _God, he hates this state –_ at least Sandor’s going his favorite way, which is out of it and the damn heat. He rubs his eyes, tired to be driving through the night to make his schedule. Blinking, he focuses on the lights up ahead flashing on something to the side of the road. As his own light catches on the figure of a girl, bright red hair behind her as she runs out of the woods framing the interstate and waves her hands frantically. He swears he’s seeing things and his sleep deprivation is worse than he thought.

Checking his side mirrors after passing the figure to make sure she’s real, he pulls the rig over without really thinking it through. Stranger barks next to him at the sudden stop, wagging his tail in hope. “Hold your horses, mongrel. I’m gonna figure out what the fuck is going on.”

Grabbing his flashlight off the dash, he vaults out of the semi to walk the paces back to this bizarre sight and sees the girl running toward him in the beam of light. _What the hell is she doing out here, without a car or anyone else? Better not be some fucking tweaker. This is Florida after all._

His curiosity is piqued as the harsh light reveals what he saw from the road, a slip of a girl, probably in her teens, in just a torn dress looking worse for wear, but in the “just ran through a swamp” way not the “hooked on oxycotin” kind of way. “Hello,” he hears a slight whimper from her.

Sandor clears his throat but can’t completely clear the rasp from his deep voice, “Whatcha doin’ out here? Ya need help?”

The girl pauses, probably trying to figure out her story. “I was lost, I need a ride. Please, fast,” and almost on cue he hears the distant barks of dogs on a trail, hounds most like.

“Well, I’m not local, but could drop you at the next exit.” _He can’t just leave her out here. There are worse things than pythons in Florida. Wait, what’s worse than giant pythons?_

“Um, are you going farther?” she inquires, trying to shield the flashlight from her eyes. _Runaway_ , he thinks. If she saw him, she wouldn’t be so desperate to climb in his truck. He’s not exactly the person you want to run into on the side of the road, being way taller than average, muscled, and not to mention his lovely face.

“If you’re on the run, you better think long and hard about whether you should leave Florida or not. Headed to Savannah, before the sun comes up, at best.”

“I must leave immediately, please. I promise I will be no bother. May I see your face, sir?” Her sudden courtesy seems misplaced in a street kid, but her request makes him snarl back at her, “You’ll see enough of it soon. Come along if you are.” He strides back to the truck, her shuffling behind him, and opens the passenger door of the cab to have Stranger tumble out to enjoy a moment on the ground and take a piss.

“Oh, a dog!” the girl chirps, and from the light in the cab, he notices she’s barefoot and dirty up to her knees, like she really has been trailing through a swamp.

“Someone leave you on the side of the road or did you walk here?” he points to her feet.

“Walked, yes,” she looks down, ashamed almost.

“You on the run, someone after you? I can call the police?”

“No, please,” she seems to shake in desperation now. _Shit, what has he gotten himself into now?_

“What do you want?” he asks her pointedly.

“I just need to get away, please,” she’s almost hyperventilating. Hard to believe calling the police or whatever she’s running from is less scary for a teenage girl than hitchhiking with a trucker in the middle of the night.

“Alright,” he turns to Stranger who is on alert, ears pricked up and listening in all directions, giving a solid bark at intervals and sniffing around on the ground. Sandor’s still picking up a distant barking, which seems particularly strange, _could they be after this little girl?_

After getting Stranger up into the truck and into the back of the cab, he grabs a blanket for her and then helps her up. She no doubt notices his face now in the light as he helps her up into the bucket seat, and he can hear her sharp intake of breath as her eyes stay fixed on his scarred half before looking away. _Bet she’s rethinking this plan._

Back on the road, he glances over to see her crawl up into a ball with her knees up in the seat, holding the blanket to her chin like it will shield her from life and with her eyes closed to shut it all out. _Poor little thing_ , her long, red hair is probably pretty around her fine features when it hasn’t been through a swamp. What the hell is even around here that she could’ve been running from?

Several more hours more down the road, he pulls off I-95 to fill up. Her blanket had fallen down, so he reaches over to pull it up over her. However, she jolts awake and edges away from him against the door, pulling his own knife out and pointing it at him. She must have grabbed it from the console when he had walked over to his side of the truck after picking her up. Her eyes are wide and staring at him hard as she asserts, “Who are you?”

He points out, “I’m taking you to Savannah, girl, you were on the side of the road,” holding his hand up now as if warding off a wild animal. Her memory seems to come back to her as she blinks at him, but then the awareness of her situation must come over her since her breathing shallows and a deadness enters her eyes.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she squeaks out, looking scared out of her wits.

“You’ve got my knife, sweetheart,” Sandor grins sarcastically at her and can see her unpleasant reaction to the way it twists his scars. _Fuck her._ He continues, curt, “Not planning on it. Go inside if you want to clean up. Make it quick.” He points over to the convenience store.

After she falls in intervals to get out of the semi, he gets Stranger out of the back of the cab to take a break while the truck fills up. These long days and nights are hard on them both, and he takes the moment to get down, stretch, and do a few pushups before heading in to take a piss himself.

Coming into the shop, the girl’s stuck in an altercation with the employee of this dump. Some white-trash bitch is yelling at her. Woman should learn to keep her mouth shut so people don’t see her fucked-up teeth or rather complete lack thereof.

“I apologize, I was just using the facilities,” the redheaded girl is rattling on in her defense, but there’s no winning like that. He just snarls at the worthless cashier, “Shut your piehole or go fill it, she’s leaving now.” He looks around to notice her mud prints through the store heading to the bathroom – must be what this is all about, the lazy bitch probably can’t stand to lift a mop.

“Wait by the truck,” he directs the girl who plods out into the night. When he comes back, her eyes are peeled watching her surroundings as she’s holding some blood soaked paper towels to her legs, but at least they’re clean now. _Damn, she’s in rougher shape than he imagined._

Getting her back in the truck, he rummages through his cab and tosses his first-aid kit to her. She lights up as her hands move to open the box and looks up at him enthusiastic and grateful before schooling her features.

“Thank you,” she whispers and starts to patch herself up.

“Tangle with a python? Surprised you got away. Must’ve been a small one since y’ain’t much bigger than a doe yourself,” he huffs a laugh at her as he starts up the diesel, letting it run a moment before pulling back on the interstate. Might as well try to amuse himself to stay awake.

She smiles faintly, but he can almost guess that for her, she was running from something worse than a snake and it’s no laughing matter. Still, he’s surprised to hear her retort, “What makes you think I just got away? That snake is no more.” He glances over to see a curl of a smile grace her face as she tends her wounds, like she’s just now able to feel some victory in her escape.

“Sounds like a hell of a story,” he lets out a yawn, reaching for the cheap coffee he picked up, his own fuel.

“As awesome as that would be, I’m afraid it was just a mess of blackberry briars that got me in the dark,” the girl peeks at him with a bit of put-upon charm.

“Ouch, that’s almost worse,” he humors her. The sooner he’s in Savannah, the sooner he can switch loads and off-load this straggler. Sandor tries not to imagine what his sister would say about just dropping off this teen runaway. They weren’t too different once, but at least she had him. The girl doesn’t have a lick of anything on her but a dirty dress, not even shoes.

As she’s staying awake now, he ventures, “Got a name?” He can practically hear her thinking up a story until she responds, “Jane.” He laughs at her in that harsh way of his, and she looks over at him puzzled and not amused. He offers, “Save me from your made-up story, girl. Tell me true or not at all.”

She’s quiet and sulks before shrugging, “Not many people know me as Sansa anymore anyways, so I guess it will do.”

“Sansa,” he mouths the name, amused but believing her.

“And your name?” she blinks over at him for a moment, so innocent like she couldn’t hurt a fly when moments ago she was threatening him with his own fucking knife. He laughs again at that. Resourceful, which is good, but that might not be how she always was.

“Sandor Clegane,” he affirms. “So ya gonna tell me why ya had dogs after ya out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere Florida?”

“Where are you going?” she redirects.

“Told ya Savannah," he grits out.

“I mean after Savannah. Is this all you do?”

He sighs, “Yeah, I’m a teamster.”

He catches her in his periphery looking around the cab, surveying it like a tourist in a new place. “I always thought this would be rather sad, driving stuff around the country.”

 _Is she fucking serious?_ He side-eyes her, “Well, fuck you then, swamp girl.”

She laughs and it’s melodic like a gracious little bird singing and makes Stranger bark with her. “Swamp girl!” she laughs some more, looking like she’s wiping away tears of laughter. “Never thought I’d be called that,” she takes a breath, and he can see her smiling in the dim light, wrapped up under the blanket.

“Sorry, it’s been a long day,” she exhales, seeming more comfortable.

“No shit,” he snorts, imagining what kind of day she may have had. The girl, Sansa, drifts off to sleep again as he makes good time from Jacksonville to get out of the dick of North America known as Florida.

The little bird’s sleep is particularly deep from her exhaustion, so he goes ahead and drops off the load and then swings by the port for his next pickup. She wakes up while he’s in line, looking hungover by all the events of the night, little sleep, and the adrenaline crash.

“Good morning,” she tells him, pulling her blanket back up around her and sitting up straight in her seat. Making him huff a laugh at her cheery tone. She's an odd one, acts like a million bucks but is hitch-hiking in rags without a cent.

“After this load gets strapped in, I’ll be getting some shut eye. Let me know where you want to go,” he informs her, chewing on one of these tea tree oil toothpicks Em got him to help quit the tobacco. The thought makes him realize he should probably check in with his sister, and Sandor reaches for his phone to text her that he made it to Savannah. She always says she’s got to be the mom and worry about him since they don’t have theirs anymore.

“Okay,” the girl takes a deep breath.

He gets his next load and signs off on everything to head out. “So did you decide?” he asks her.

“I don’t know,” she replies blank, like she doesn’t know what to do now.

“Well, I’ll take you to town,” he pulls out and heads down to the visitor center, pulling in to a remote area at the back. He gets out to stretch a bit and let Stranger have a walk around. The girl looks lost and unsure but waves a quick thanks goodbye to him before walking away into the center. Hopefully she’ll figure out what to do there. They probably have places for homeless teens these days and shit.

He sets his cab up to sleep and his alarm and falls dead asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow. The girl was a welcome distraction in a way; otherwise he might not have made it last night.

 

* * *

At some loud noise, Sandor jolts awake, hitting his head on a cabinet, making him swear loudly, and is disoriented at what has him awake until he recognizes the sound of a gunshot and then another. _Jesus Christ, is someone shooting as his truck? Fuck!_ Stranger is making a damn racket, barking at the window and jumping from either seat, evidently trying to chase whatever assailants there are outside.

He grabs his pump shotgun he keeps hidden for emergencies, before pulling Stranger down out of sight, and trying to stealthily check out the window. Can’t see a damn thing, so he tries to use his ears to figure out what the hell is going on. He hears heavy boots come towards the truck, some man asking his partner, “Did you see which way she went?” _She? Better not be that damn girl and better not be the law after her._

Barefoot, he creeps out of the truck after he hears them turn a corner around the back and edges along to see if he can check the pair out from behind. He eyes them from the end of the trailer as one pulls out binoculars to survey the area, and as he turns his head, Sandor notices an unusual scar on his neck, like a red “X.” Don't look like cops. He takes their moment of weakness to bash the other one on the head with the butt of his shotgun unconscious. The other drops the binoculars and reaches for his piece, but Sandor’s quicker with a punch to the throat, knocking the air out of him, hitting him with the shotgun unconscious, too, for good measure.

He better get the fuck out of here is his immediate thought as well as where are the fucking police? He hears sudden movement behind him and swings around, pumping his shotgun, just to see the girl, Sansa, crawling out from under his rig and dusting herself off though she’s still about as dirty as he picked her up. She looks up with eyes wide staring at the barrel of his shotgun aimed at her.

“I thought you were gone,” he snarls at her, lowering the weapon.

She glares at him and replies matter-of-fact, “They found me, I ran back here. Sorry. We should move now.”

“There’s no fucking ‘we,’ girl, especially not till you tell me what the hell you’re pulling me into.”

“I’m just trying to get somewhere safe till my uncle can get me,” she starts sniffling on cue, playing the fucking victim.

“Do you know where he is?” At least she has someone.

“I don’t know, north probably, can I go with you? Please! Thank you so much for your help already, Sandor!” she tries to play it up.

“Don’t start fucking chirping now. Get in the truck, better get out of here before these shits wake up, but ya better start talking straight if ya think I’m taking yer ass all the way up north.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: On the road north.

Sansa was desperate. Clinging to this frightening, gruff trucker and persuading him to let her tag along as he heads north is not ideal, but she’s got to keep moving and put as much distance between herself and Florida as possible. Those scars, Christ! Still,he hasn’t hurt her yet and is as good transportation as she can procure at the moment. Probably wouldn’t have let her go before without abusing her if he intends to. Peter is disappointed in her, but he couldn’t have known what would happen.

Back on the interstate, Sandor curses, “Fuck me, only two hours of sleep,” and makes a deep growl in frustration, making her tense up. Then he glances over at her, making her wince at the sight of his scars, and grates, “Better start talking to keep me awake and don’t make up any stories, girl, because I’ll know.”

“What do you want to know?” Like hell she’s going to start the novel of her life story.

“Start with who’s after you and this fucking uncle of yours. Where’s your parents?” He casts a glance her, and she almost sees pity but not the bad kind, more like empathy. Still, fuck him for asking about her parents.

“I ran away from this sadistic fuck." She sees his brows raise at her sharp accusation, “Who my uncle arranged to leave me with and was being hunted by his dogs the night I made it to I-95. Those were two of his guys just now.”

“Christ, what the fuck were you doing with him, swamp girl?” Sandor asks, incredulous at her story no doubt.

She smiles at the silly moniker. “He didn’t know what they were like, but it really screws shit up that I left.” Sansa tries to push down the worries of how very cold her uncle was to her when she explained the situation on the phone in Savannah.

“Who’s he?” Sandor asks.

“My uncle, of course,” she says, remembering no names if she can help it. It would have all been fine if he didn’t have to leave her with them…

The trucker keeps looking at his mirrors and fading to the side. “Looks like we got a tail. Those fuckers.”

“Fuck,” Sansa adds her displeasure looking in the mirror by her, making out a black sedan a few cars back that looks like some of his telltale dogs back on the trail.

“I saw a red X on one of their necks?” he glances over at her with a questioning look.

“Yeah, it’s medieval, the flayed man,” she explains, doubting he’ll figure out the family connection.

“You’re in some deep shit, little girl, for not even eighteen. Well, at least it’s not a burning man,” Sandor voices as he’s turning the rig with the bend in the highway.

Letting the age thing go, she throws back at him, “Even you’d choose fire over flaying, old man.”

He shakes his head with a hissing sound at that, picking up a toothpick he proceeds to chew in his mouth.

“This gonna suck for you, princess, when I need to fill up again,” he nods to her, pulling out the disgusting toothpick, and eying her reaction.

Sansa takes a deep breath, knowing they won’t make the drop before then. “Sandor, I need to use your phone.” _Damn_ , she didn’t want it to come to this. She’s got to make it to outside D.C., and they’re still trudging through this flat stretch of South Carolina.

“Calling this uncle?” Sandor responds, doubting her.

She huffs at him, “He is my uncle.”

“Not a normal one, I’d bet,” Sandor hands her his phone, but his remark makes her pause, she’d never thought to question if Peter was normal or not. Like anything’s normal for her anyways, she dismisses the thought.

“You got a family?” she looks at him incredulous, holding up the background of his phone to him.

He doesn’t look happy with her when he spits out, “Sister and her boy.”

“Aww,” she smiles in amusement at this man, and affects, “Emily called you, is that your sister?”

“Make your fucking call, little snoop,” he snarls, making her laugh a bit at him. He’s all bark though, and there’s much worse things than that to be found in the world.

Peter is not going to like her calling again, he was already pretty irate with her, but she dials anyway, though she hates for Sandor to overhear her. “Luther, please put me through to Peter,” she address his associate, waiting for five minutes it seems.

“What is it now?” Peter asks coldly when he picks up the line, no _hello, my sweet Alayne._ She can’t help her whimper, and the tears beginning to form in her eyes at his disappointment in her, reducing her to the stupid, little girl she was.

“I’m sorry to call again, but they followed me from Savannah. I’m still in the truck and on my way to D.C., but we’ll have to stop for gas. I didn’t know what to do.” She’s full-on crying at this point, tears down her cheek and everything, and she’s so embarrassed but desperate more.

“You’re no use to me now,” he tells her emotionless, making all the breath go out of her, rendering her chest feeling like it's imploding. He continues, “You’ll get the papers at the P.O. box, and it’s done. You’ll check in with Luther when you reach whatever destination you choose. I’ll pull those guys off you, but this is the last time. Don’t call me crying when you know what you’ve done, Sansa.” She gulps, feeling frozen, he never uses her given name, it’s like she’s dead to him now. _How could he after everything?_ Her breathing hasn't regulated, and she’s hyperventilating at the prospect of being cut off from Peter.

Though she made no response, Peter responds, “I’m glad you realize the severity of what you’ve done. I’ve had to reassure Bolton all morning and now this. You’re making this a hard day for me.” _How can he be so cold to her? She was treated beyond inhumane._

“Please let me come back. Please, Peter, I’ll do anything,” she pleads.

“Will you go back to Ramsay?” he asks.

She gasps, her curt silence speaking volumes. _Anything but that._

“I need to be with you,” Sansa replies instead, gasping for breath between sobs. It’s like her life depends on it, _what else will she do?_

“Contact Luther only if you must, and I’ll deal with you through him,” Peter states, and the call ends. She stares at the number blinking on the screen till it disappears, and with a little sniffle, she wipes her face. Truly, she is shaken by her uncle’s callousness and being left broken and hurt. He’s truly through with her after all they'd been through, all she’s done through, all these years. Just this one thing and she’s out, no matter all their plans. Draping the blanket over her, Sansa catches sight of her scratched-up legs and feet and her soiled dress. What a pitiful sight she makes, but still it’s better than suffering another day in Florida. Hopefully, some money will be in the package in D.C.

To her good fortune, the trucker is being silent and giving her space instead of pestering her about all her personal details again. She huddles up into a ball on the chair, peering down the stretch of road. It’s not fifteen minutes they catch sight of blue lights in the mirrors, and the sirens make their way into the cab as several police vehicles surround the black sedan that was following them, making the car pull over to the side.

“Well, that takes care of that,” Sandor whistles and glances over at her almost wary with disbelief. “Ya in some witness protection or what?”

Sansa sighs, _if only,_ “Something like that,” and just watches out the window after a bend in the road leaves the flayed men out of sight. She drifts off then into the lazy warmth of the yellow sunshine streaming in and finds rest.

 

Waking with a start, Sansa gasps realizing the truck is not moving, feeling highly disoriented. She surveys the cab to spot Sandor scrunched on his makeshift bed in the back sound asleep _._ The creak of her seat must wake his dog curled up on the floorboard beside him because he perks up and edges toward her. Sansa lets him sniff her hand a bit before petting him, much to his evident pleasure as he flops over on his side for belly rubs. _Well, at least, he doesn’t have the personality of his owner._

Taking a break from the dog, Sansa scans the cab again for anything she could learn about this person… _or take._ Seeing his keys and a wallet on the dash on the driver side, _what an idiot_ , she thinks, before gingerly shifting to grab both items. She barely edges over the center when she hears a low growl to her disbelief. Looking back at the dog, she’s again surprised when Sandor’s mocking laughter rings in her ears.

“Thought you’d try something, huh, girl?” He rudely barks another laugh at her expense. “He’s not just for cuddles.” He cracks himself up further.

Rolling her eyes and not caring to add fuel to the fire, Sansa changes the subject, “Why did you stop the rig? They could have found me!”

He barks back, “And we could be dead because I was bone-tired. So much so I could’a wrecked. We’re nearly to Virginia anyways.” _How’d she sleep so much?_

“Do you need more rest?” she asks him, she could always try and bum her way into another ride since staying here was making her antsy.

“That’ll be enough for now,” the trucker sighs, sitting up and yanking his boots on.

“We need to make a stop at a post office in D.C. I have the address. My uncle arranged for some things I need there.” Thinking of her earlier talks with Peter, makes her steel herself, _no more crying about him, Alayne doesn't cry._

“Hell, girl, always something,” he mutters, climbing back in the driver’s seat. They take a quick bathroom break before he starts the rig, letting it warm up before heading back on the interstate. She grabbed a tshirt from the visitor center part of the rest station and pulls that over her head.

“Where’s your next drop?” she asks him.

“Warehouse, Bethesda,” is his sparse answer. She just sighs, bored already, opening up her skittles to pair up her favorite flavors, savoring all the lemon ones.

Hours more down the road, she’s logging the address to the post office into the GPS for her drop. Once she has the envelope in hand, she hops back in the cab to look through her new identity.

“Thanks for taking me here. It’s weird knowing he’s probably in the city, and I can’t see him,” she voices, usually she’d talk to Peter about things when he had time.

Still as she pulls out all her papers, she’s shocked beyond belief, “Sansa Stark! Everything says Sansa Stark. I can’t be her!” She brushes through the birth certificate – _her actual fucking date of birth_! And the license, the passport, and there’s even real history from her primary school. _This is weird. At least Ramsay doesn’t know who she really is, but Christ, there are others. Thank God, there’s the bank account information. Wait, this must be a mistake, why is there like no money in it? She should be fucking rich as shit. That’s going to be worth a call to Luther_ , she thinks.

“Isn’t Sansa your name though?” the trucker asks unaware.

“Of course it is, but that’s not what I use anymore. It’s too risky," she explains. At least Peter always told her it was too risky to be Sansa anymore, that's why she was Alayne. He really has given up on her.

“Will those men find you?” he asks.

“They know me as someone else, but there are others that may still know me as Sansa Stark. This is punishment,” she whines, tossing all the papers into the floorboard, wishing she could run to Peter right now and make it better.

“Punishment?” he looks over at her confused. _Why hasn’t he started the truck yet?_

“Let’s just go,” she signals to him.

“Where are you going now? Do those papers tell you where to go?” he eyes her questioningly. _Shit, he thought this was how he’d get rid of me. Drop me here forever. At least he didn’t drive off, too._

“They didn’t say, he hasn’t told me, he’s cut me off,” she tries to explain, but all of her anxiety comes boiling inside her, making her act by swinging open the truck door and jumping out. Her arms are starting to shake, and she leaves Sansa Stark behind, walking away, going nowhere. She hears the bang of the other door and yap of the trucker’s dog after her a moment later.

“Hey, swamp girl,” he yells after her, evidently trying to lighten her mood again. It’s just makes her tears start to fall making her want to hide from the whole world.

“Sansa,” he follows after her, and she just stops, turning to him, “What the hell? Leave me alone.”

“Girl, you need your papers,” he intones with impatience.

“Then go get them for me,” she itches for a cigarette or something.  

At this, he reaches her and grips both her shoulders, shaking her a little bit, “Sansa, stop. Get in the truck and we’ll keep driving and you’ll figure out what to do, okay? Don’t run away here, now. I know this road, make better choices.”

Holding up her fists with middle fingers extended and struggling against him, she starts, “Fuck y…” to be interrupted by Sandor yelling, “Shut the lip,” grabbing her arms toward him, physically overpowering her. “I’m not going to sit here and let you do this. I wouldn’t let my sister, and I’m not going to let you.” He’s grabbing her hand then and yanking her back towards the truck, his other hand going through his long, black hair. Stranger trails after them. Perturbed, he yanks open the door handle, practically tossing her back up in the cab, the dog coming right after her. She amuses herself with how others might view this abduction of her.

Sandor drives off without a word, hauling ass down the road back to the beltway.

“Pick up your papers, at least he did you that service,” he sneers at her, mumbling something under his breath about ungrateful this and that. She does as he tells her, taking the time to look over each one more closely. What will it be like to be Sansa Stark again? she asks herself. She takes a deep breath, feeling Stranger lick her leg and look up at her so sweet, she scratches the back of his head. Guess she will find out, she muses, feeling a calmness come over her, and the possibilities become exciting rather than overwhelming.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV

He'd had enough of being on the road  and caved to stay the night in a cheap motel for a shower and a bed. His back was killing him, and she looked rode hard and put up wet, probably needed to properly clean her legs, too.

Sandor calls, "Hey Em, how y'all? "

"Doing fine, yourself? You'll be home in another day or two, right?"

"Yeah," he scratches his chin, not wanting to bring the girl up."Stopped into a motel, worn flew out, sister. Got this runaway with me since Florida."

"You picked up a hitchhiker? " she immediately jumps in, her disbelief ringing loud and clear.

"She was..."

"A girl?" Emily interrupts, even more dumbfounded.

"I know it was stupid," he grits out angry at the interruption.

"So why are you telling me this?" Her sister sounds intrigued since she knows him to well - he wouldn't bring it up if it didn't concern her.

Sandor sighs, "I wanted to ask you about it. She's running from some people I think hurt her, and her uncle just cut her off. She doesn't know where to go or what to do and almost walked off with nothing. I'm thinking about seeing if she wants to get her feet under her in Knoxville."

"Wow, you do have a heart," his sister laughs.

"Only cause I know you would kill me if I threw her on the streets, and she doesn't even have a brother, or at least one who gives a fuck," he defends.

"True, you're sure she's not lying?" Em is skeptical.

 "Pretty sure. Hell, she can be manipulative but once she's safe, she'll show her true colors. She has a bit of trust in me, just because I haven't hurt her."

"I understand, and I think it would be fine if she stayed with us for a bit." Then he hears her breaks from the phone to yell, "Jacks, you stop that now. Sandor is on the line." His sister's always using him to threaten his nephew, he laughs. The girl steps out of the shower, so he lets his sister go.

"I'll go ahead and get mine done," he speaks, trying to avoid looking at her in just a towel.

The shower feels absolutely amazing as the hot water runs over him, soothing all his sore muscles. God, some hands rubbing into his back would be heaven, but he'll have to settle for the water pressure. Getting out of the shower and toweling dry, Sandor slips on some make-do pajamas, toweling off his mess of hair. Stepping out he sees the girl  wrapped up in the sheets on her double bed, watching some nature show. Not thinking anything of it, he stalks over to his bed and crashes down on it, his eyes closing, happy to not have to watch the road.

The clearing of her throat abruptly makes his eyes fly up to find her standing next to him, her sheet wrapped loose around her chest indicating she's likely naked underneath and with a look on her face no teen should know or dare to give a man his age. _Fuck_. Being coy, she smiles and starts to speak, but he doesn't let her with a definitive, "Don't."  
He gets up, pushing past her to his things and pulls out his cleanest shirt and tosses it on her bed. Glancing at her, Sandor can see the hurt and confusion plain on her face that stops him from walking out the door immediately.

When he doesn't say anything, she cries, "What do you want from me?"

He opens his mouth to answer but he has no explanation, no simple wants. "Nothing," he settles on saying but that appears to confuse her more. "Look, I been where you're at, girl, my sister, too, and what happens is not pretty. If I can keep you from that, then you're better off."

"You don't have to take me with you tomorrow, I can figure my own shit out," Sansa spouts with confidence, seeming to forget she's naked under a sheet in front of him.

"Then what was all that about?" He points to where he was moments before.

The courage that makes her look his scars in the face must dissipate, for she looks down, ashamed-like, almost like it's a different girl he's looking at. As she's the silent one now, he directs her, "Put on the shirt and climb back into your bed and then, I'll talk to you." A part of her hesitates to obey he can tell, but she picks up the shirt and looks up at him tentative, stripped down to the scared little dove she is. Not scared of him but the world, rightly so.

He goes outside, walks till he finds a coke machine and grabs a couple before he heads back. He could go for a big breakfast come the morning, _damn that sounds good_. That girl, though, he shakes his head at what just happened, too pretty for her own good for sure. What got into her to proposition herself to him as some kind of payment like? She knew what she was doing is what irks him, like she's done it before. _Fuck that uncle of hers. Fuck that fucking Peter, what girl calls her uncle by his first name?_ Not where he comes from. There's just something not right about it, and he should be smart and stay out of it. But that girl, something about her he just doesn't want to let go, it's like letting something beautiful be crushed. Exactly what he saw when he watched her walk away with nothing earlier, leaving her papers, just walking off into D.C. Something tells him this girl wouldn't go to a shelter or house for runaways. If she couldn't find her shitty-ass uncle, she'd be turning tricks soon enough for the money, then it's a slippery slope to drugs from there. If anything, her behavior tonight confirmed it. Hell, Emily nearly killed herself on meth and molly and who the hell knows what else going out in the woods with that piece of shit he got rid of soon enough.

Back at the door, he knocks before opening up, and he glances at her, nervous almost, but luckily she's got his shirt on and is sitting up under the sheets like a little girl, watching her nature channel again.

"Maybe we can get you some more things in the morning," he brings up, not sure how she'll take to bringing up Knoxville. She glances with an unsure look on her face before nodding.

He sits down on his bed facing her side. "After Chicago tomorrow, I'll be headed home to Knoxville the day after. If you want, you can come to Knoxville, and we can help you get your feet under you there."

He can see the wheels turning in her head at his proposal, but she dismisses it outright, thinking she's so capable, "that's okay, I guess Chicago will do."

  
He tries to tamp down the anger that wants to yell at her how stupid she's being. Instead, he grates, "Well, just fucking sleep on it," as he turns out the light and climbs into his own bed, barely registering the show she's watching as he stares blindly at the screen.

He's surprised to hear her say, "Birds are my favorite, look at that puffed up blue one. Trying to win his lady." _Okay..._ he thinks. He can hear her sigh at his lack of response.  
Focusing on the screen, he sees two fancy blue birds, as she said, puffed up and dancing around each other while a plain one watches. "Dumb lady bird if that's what gets her going," he rasps.

The girl giggles sweetly, "It does seem silly, doesn't it? I doubt I'd be much impressed. They don't even really fight each other." That makes him laugh heartily, the whims of a woman. He'd never go to such trouble to win one, doubt he'd find one worth it.

"They're beautiful though," she continues, sounding too bittersweet for a teenage girl. The idea, these handsome, strutting men, stirs his own bitterness, much to his annoyance. _Fuck being beautiful._ "Worthless," he pronounces them.

She responds, "Yes, worthless," and she turns off the television. Amid the rustle of her shifting to her side, he hears her sniffle, and he's left wondering what they were really talking about tonight. 

* * *

Sitting down at the diner, he gets the biggest breakfast they got and takes in how great it is being rested and clean though getting drunk and having a fuck would be better. Not with no underage girl though. _Jesus Christ_ , he shakes his head, looking at as his young charge over his syrup-soaked pancakes. She's in her new clothes from the store that morning, where'd she'd made a big show about how she'll pay him back when she can access her bank account. She's got a little backpack, too, for all her stuff - a real schoolgirl now. If she wants to run off in Chicago, he did his best. Still, Em would like her, he bets.

"Ya know, pretty little birds are only worthless if they choose to be," he feels the need to tell her. He'd found himself waking up thinking  about those damned birds he'd called worthless. She just rolls her eyes at him with apparent annoyance. Don't know why he cares about offending her when she gets that kind of attitude. A little respect wouldn't kill her. Glaring at her, he catches something noteworthy out of the corner of his eye, something behind her and heading their way - two men all in black, and as they get closer - red X's on their necks. _Shi-yit_ , he sounds out under his breath.

"What is it?" She questions in her melodic tone and he glances at the girl. _Christ_ , she is kind of like a helpless little bird in comparison to this rough crew after her. He wishes he had his shotgun, but all he's got is his knife. He tosses the steak knife that came with his meal over to the girl as a precaution and her pretty eyes go wide. He has his own knife open in hand when they stop, looking at the girl.

"Well, well, well, look what we found here," the first one laughs, looking at his buddy and joking, "always wanted to say that."

"Ramsay misses his princess," the other affects, making both of them crack up. They pay little attention to Sandor and almost seem drunk in fact, but they're packing plenty to take him out and then some. Sansa is holed up in the corner of the booth, pale and shaking in fear like she's looking death in the face.

The first demands, "Come on, little girly, we're taking you home," and reaches over to grab her. Sandor's left arm extends to block the son of a bitch. "She's not going anywhere with y'all," he barks out.

"Oh, you think you're a pretty tough good ole boy, huh?" the other laughs, circling around to him and putting a finger in his runny eggs, trying to mess with him. He takes the distraction to push the one back away from Sansa and deal with this asshole.

"You're going to have to come through me for her," he keeps eye contact with the motherfucker, and Sansa like a smart little bird, crawls under the table to be behind him and secures her backpack.

The second idiot chuckles, his finger covered in yellow goo he moves to put it on his face, saying, "Give us the girl and live." Before he gets to his face, Sandor has switched his knife to the left and uses his dominant hand to grab and twist this fucker's hand with a satisfying crack to his wrist. He cries out in pain while the first recovers and holds a handgun at him, "Don't mess with us, you motherfucker."

Panicking, Sandor pulls the second to him with his left arm wrapping around with the knife to his throat while his right contorts the fucker's broken wrist around his back, and Sandor rises out of the booth, the girl behind him. "Don't shoot me, man," the one in his grasp is whining as they advance on the shooter, but it's chaos in the diner with people on the floor and others running out. The shooter is jostled by tripping over someone's leg on the floor and fires stray bullets at the ceiling. Sandor takes this moment to push the one into the other overturning a table.

Pocketing his knife, he picks up a chair, yelling, "Run, little bird," avoiding using her name, and she hops over the obstruction and runs out the door. Bringing the chair down hard, he informs the two, "You think I'm an accident. Between me and her uncle, you will all die before you take her. Do not follow me." Nothing like leading them to believe there's a connection between him and her fucking uncle. A little confusion never hurt. He beats them for a good minute, then bolts for the truck. Luckily they were too broken to get a shot off. 

"What took you so long?" Sansa is pestering him, still gripping the steak knife as he opens the door to a barking Stranger. He carefully tosses her up, and she lets go of the knife,shaking her head. _Poor thing_. He starts the truck and is heading out the parking lot as a host of police officers arrive. Better late than never, he laughs.

"Wanted to send a messsage," he answers her as he pulls on the interstate. "Oh, thanks," she hesitantly smiles over at him.

A few more minutes down the highway, and she speaks up, "So...can I really stay with you?" He chuckles, nothing like saving her skin to change her tune. "Offer still stands," he smirks over at her.

"Okay then," she tries to play cool, pulling out a book, but he doesn't blame her change of heart. It's survival. Must be some depraved sons o'bitches she's running from. Sandor heaves a relieved sigh, checking for any wounds or any suspicious cars behind him. Seems clear, got off lucky. They won't underestimate him again.

"Who are these fuckers from? Not your uncle, right?"

"No, they're Ramsay's men. They won't stop because the alternative is death. Only Ramsay can call them off, not even his dad." At his raised eyebrows, she continues, "Ramsay Bolton, that is, I was supposed to be his...whatever," she explains more what he wanted to know in the first place. "Sorry," she sniffles, getting upset, she looks out her window.

Not the best at consoling, he tells her, "Still whole, aren't we? Not like you can help it, and I was dumb enough to let you in my truck. Hell if I know why," he huffs a laugh.

"It is my fault, I was supposed to stay. But I fucked up. You really don't have to do any of this." She clenches her hands, still looking out the window to hide the emotional outflow of tears from her close call call, most like.

"Hey, you're surviving, Sansa, you did what you had to," he tries to gentle his rasp.

"You don't know that," she looks down, but he can tell she's losing her resolve.

"That could've gone bad, but if I hadn't been there, girl, you would've been taken by those pieces o'shits."

"I know, okay," she snips, but he knows how much it scared her.

"I'm sorry, okay?" apologizing like when Emily's upset at him, looking over at the poor thing. Little bird, that's what he called her, kinda suits her.

"Hey, why don't you climb in the back and rest. Stranger can take shotgun," wanting her to feel better and have some space.

"I'm fine here," she smiles over at him, crossing her legs up on the seat and digging into her book. The sun streaming in turns her hair to fire, making him want to run his hand through it, makes no sense for a man like him. Still, he keeps looking over at her, so happy and whole now thanks to him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm totally using the city I live in in this story as Sandor's home town lol.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV: Heading to her new home.

Her legs up on the dash, enjoying the latest YA novel to read, Sansa tries to focus on it, but her mind turns again to the trucker that she doesn't know what to think of driving right next to her. _Why is he doing all this if he doesn't want to fuck her or something?_ She really thought that's why he got that motel room the other night and had just kind of accepted it. She was starting to owe him too much as it was.

And shit, especially now with everything that went down yesterday when he saved her skin. When she saw Ramsay’s boys, she knew they had her, she hadn't been careful enough, staying with this man, but no, Sandor wouldn't let them take her and took them down armed only with a knife he barely needed. She would rather die than be with Ramsay again. Scared of what would happen if they find her on her own -and they would- staying with him is her best option now that Peter will not protect her. _Maybe Peter wanted her to get caught for some reason?_ She's so confused about how all this has shaken out but probably most by her new guardian of sorts. Still, she remembers how she felt when he made it out of that diner and helped her up with his hands around her waist, it was relief and safety that flooded her, so much she dropped the steak knife she forgot she was holding. He was so calm, too, he must've been through some shit to be that chill.

Even the idea of being away from him gives that little girl part of her a moment of panic, so she looks over at him, letting her knowledge of his presence relax her. She rests her head on the seat, studying this side of him, even if his scars are awful. God, he looks so strong, not in a bodybuilding way, but strength built up over time from use, he probably wasn't always a truck driver. Long dark hair is an interesting feature, and she decides it becomes him. She loves her long hair. He even has a few tattoos, though it would be cooler if he had a sleeve.

"Fucking rubber neckers," he curses, breaking her from her thoughts, as he starts to slow down. 

"Sorry?" she wonders, her hands fidgeting with her book. Sandor cocks an eye over at her almost like he forgot she was there. She's surprised at the little twinge of sadness that afflicts her at this, souring her smile at him.

"Rubber neckers, little bird, people who slow to see a wreck, that's what we got here. Fuck them." She kicks herself that her smile returns quickly at this little nickname he uses. In a sweet tone, she sympathizes, "I'm sorry. Forget I was here?" and playfully nudges his arm. 

"Couldn't,” he answers, “thought you was reading," looking at her and then looks back again, "what's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," she doesn't know what he's on about. "Have you always driven a truck?" she asks, looking up at him with her head still cocked to the side on her seat.

"Since when do you take an interest?" He scrunches his brows at her strangely, then laughs it off brashly.

"Why can't I ask a reasonable question?" She huffs, picking up her backpack to look through it. _How could she think he cared?_ _Because he let you pick out this little backpack and everything in it_ , a little voice answers.

"Well, my sister and I were orphans who ran away from foster care, so not too unlike yourself," he nods. "Enlisted with navy, did that for six years and got out. Fiddled with being a mechanic before picking this up. Sister got me Stranger to keep from being lonely on the road," he barks a laugh. "That's about it, girl," he smirks over at her and she finds herself smiling back at him.

"That's cool you were in the navy. My dad and older brothers were in the military. What did you do?"

He glances over at her before taking his time answering, "Mechanic on fighter jets till I joined the SEALs."

"Oh, that explains it," she speaks without thinking.

"Explains what?" He cocks his eye at her.

"Nothing..." she tries to play it off.

"Tell me," he asserts.

"How strong you are," she squeaks out in one breath, feeling so embarrassed in her honesty.

"How what?" He smirks, looking over at her.

"Strong," she sounds out, feeling the red on her face heat up as she turns away from him, adding, "and good at combat."

She can hear him chuckle lightly at her as she faces her window. In a playful tone, he tries to get her attention back, "Hey, it's funny, little bird," he tugs on her hair facing him. "Right, Stranger?" He addresses the dog that then barks for him. "See," he points out.

"Ha ha," she fake laughs, turning around and fixing her hair back. She can see the smirk on his face from where she's sitting, and he looks happy almost, making her almost want to forgive him.

A ways down the road, Sandor stops for diesel, so she takes Stranger out for him, making him run around some. She halts when seeing Sandor stretch out his long limbs and sighs, _he was a SEAL and he saved her_ , and then runs over to him with Stranger. She can tell he sees her but isn't looking directly at her. Still, she waves, "Hey, gave him a little exercise for you," as she starts to twist her hair. He just gives her that strange look again and a nod, taking Stranger's leash. "Run along to the bathroom, little bird, still a few hours to Tennessee." 

She sounds out, "Okay," displeased, looking up as she drops her hand from her hair and walks off. 

After going to the bathroom, she's looking up at all the ice cream options the attached fast food joint has when he joins her. All she had for breakfast was some of his jerky, _talk about shitty._

"Can I have an ice cream?" she smiles up at him.

"Sure," he shrugs.

She tells the cashier, "I'll have the large brownie sundae with extra caramel."

"Jesus, girl," he laughs next to her, pulling out his wallet. 

"I'm hungry," she sulks.

"Then get real food," he tells her, laughing more.

"Like any of this is real," she gestures to the fast food place.

"Well, it's the best ya got, princess, unless you want to go forage outside," he doesn't hesitate to bat back and then orders chicken tenders and a shake for himself. Climbing back into the rig, they're both digging into their food as he lets the engine warm up, and he takes off once he’s got his chicken eaten.

Down the interstate, the sugary mess has gotten everywhere and she complains, "I forgot napkins." He sets his shake down to rummage around, handing her some. "Thanks again for everything," she smiles over at him with a contented sigh and setting her empty dish somewhere safe.

"You're such a happy little bird today," he looks over at her and even this momentary gaze warms her. 

"How can I not be? I'm on the road with you, and I'm pretty safe at the moment,” she reasons.

He chuckles, "Can't argue with that.”

"Well, that's a first," she teases with him, angling her feet back on the dash, catching his eyes noticing her. He doesn't say anything, so she adds, "I think I'm starting to like being on the road."

"You wouldn't like the road if you'd been at is as long as I have. Hope you start liking school," he replies.

"School?" she sneers at him. "No way."

"When was the last time you went to school?" he asks plainly.

"Um, not since I've been with Peter. He had a tutor for me until he could tell I was plenty educated,” she relates.

"What? Not that fucking uncle again meddling.”

"Don't you dare speak of him such," she snaps, defiant.

"I imagine I should have a little respect for a man who can have cops arrest me at any moment, but nope. He did a number on you,” Sandor evenly replies.

"What does that even mean?" she snips, crossing her arms.

"You'll figure it out one day. You need to get back into school. Em will see that you get tested back in and can get your feet under ya," he directs her.

"Oh, you know just what I need," she sarcastically remarks, flipping her hair and picking her book back up off the floor. _As if he can tell her what to do._

"Dammit, girl," he bangs his hand on the steering wheel. "Just give it a thought. If you are going to stay, I want you to go to school." 

"That sounds kind of long-term," she sounds disinterested, but a part of her wonders what else would she do. Would she just work somewhere otherwise?

"A sixteen-year-old girl should be in high school, not gallivanting around with a trucker. Hell, I could get in some serious trouble, toting you across state lines."

"It's not like I'm your typical sixteen-year-old," she says in a flirty tone.

"Exactly," he responds like she just proved his point.

"Fuck you," she mock pouts, and he just laughs in his rough way, amused.

"What else did you plan on doing?" He looks over at her, gentler.

"I don't know," she replies in a defensive tone, looking out of her window away from him. 

"Well, just think about it, okay?" he brings his hand to rest on her shoulder before he has to grab the clutch again. She hates how much that convinces her he's right, and she should just stay with him and finish school rather than move on to face the same dilemma alone.

* * *

Getting into Knoxville, Sandor pulls off the interstate and makes his way through a series of intersections before they're in a heavily wooded area. He turns from the already meandering road they'd followed for miles onto a gravel, one-lane drive. "Almost there?" She asks and he nods. They pass a cabin and old farmhouse before he pulls up on a little side drive to a green two-story. Not very big but nice enough, she thinks. 

"This is it," he tells her, shifting into park. 

"Uncle San," she hears yelled, as she's climbing out of her side with Stranger, who's taken to her quite a lot. Stepping around the side, she sees Sandor lifting up a boy of about eight she thinks. A woman around Sandor's age comes out and goes straight to Sandor to give him a hug. She's shapely with long, dark hair to match his, and Sansa's struck by how much she already doesn't like her without knowing why. 

She holds her ground as the woman approaches her, Sandor not following much to Sansa's agitation. _Wouldn't he introduce her to his family?_ "Hi, I'm Emily, his sister," the woman holds her hand out with a big smile. 

"Sansa," she replies in monotone, taking her hand out of politeness only. 

"Okay, I see," Emily acts amused, "That's my son, Jackson, but we call him Jacks mostly." Then she bends down to undo the leash and pet an eager Stranger. _Even the dog likes her more._ Sansa realizes she's being ridiculous but just lets it be for now. Soon enough Sandor will be leaving her with his sister, and she'll need to make peace.

Going in the house, Emily announces, "Chili for dinner," to which Sandor laughs, "it's August, Em."

"I know but you like it and it's easy," she plays back.  Sansa's stomach is at least excited about home-cooked food for a change. 

"Oh, we'll give you the tour after dinner, okay hun?" Em addresses her. She just nods, her chin held high as she enters the kitchen, and they all fix up a bowl of chili and sit around the kitchen table.

"So how old are you, Sansa? Am I pronouncing it right?" Emily ventures.

"San and San, right?" Jacks speaks up pointing at each of them. Sansa just smiles big, looking over at Sandor, but he’s watching his sister. 

"Yes, that's right, Jacks," she addresses the boy then tells the sister, "I'll be seventeen in...February." She paused trying to remember her actual birthday, not Alayne's, which was much sooner.

"So young," the sister comments, looking straight at her brother who actually appears a little uncomfortable. 

"She'll be needing to get set up in school, Em," he says between bites, "if she chooses to stick around."

“Stick around?" Em questions.

"Ya know, get her feet under her," he defends, and it's weird to Sansa how they're discussing her right here. "Yeah," she butts in, "I really owe you a lot, Sandor. Still, if you don't want me here, Emily, it's cool, I can leave on Sandor's next trip somewhere." He looks confused at the plan she’s winging, but she doesn't want to appear like she'd give up on having her new guardian completely.

Due to his momentary confusion, Emily's the one that speaks, "and where would a girl like you go?" Insinuating that she's somehow helpless - maybe Sansa but Alayne's anything but helpless, she reminds herself.

"I'll figure it out, okay? That's what girls like me do." Sansa replies, side-eying her.

Emily laughs, "Yeah, I know how that works. You're lucky my brother's the one that picked you up in the first place." 

Sandor tries to interrupt saying his sister's name, but Sansa speaks over him, in as strong a tone as she can muster, "You think I don't know that. Really! If I wasn't dead by now, I'd be right back where I was running from in Florida, especially since my uncle decided I'm no use to him anymore. Like I said, I owe Sandor a lot." She wasn't planning on saying all that, but the woman was getting under her skin. Her hands are now shaky as she reaches for her water glass. Emily nods, exchanging a look with her brother. 

Sansa stares down in her bowl, letting out a deep breath that she was evidently holding. "You okay, little bird?" She hears him ask, and she looks up to find his concerned eyes on her. She smiles a little at his attention, and manages, "I'll be okay, I guess." Whenever she has to face the reality of her situation, it shakes her to her core and makes her feel cold all over. She's only here at the mercy of one person's charity. Hopefully, Emily won't toss her out either. 

Jacks gets up now that he's done, and Emily's collecting their bowls, heading to the kitchen. Sandor follows suit, giving her a warm, little pat on the shoulder and goes over to slump into the couch. She follows him but hears Emily call for her. 

"Can I get you anything?" she asks him with a smile, somehow falling into the habit of twisting her hair again. 

He looks up at her, studying her for a couple seconds, "Uh, a beer," he runs his hand over his face casually.

"Okay." She zips into the kitchen, heading for the fridge and pulling out a beer for him. 

"Wait a second, Suzie," his sister gets her attention. 

"It's Sansa," she rolls her eyes.

"I know, it's just something we say," she seems highly amused. _Southerners and their array of jargon_ , she shakes her head. "No beer though, Sansa, I may have been drunk all the time when I was your age, but not in my house." 

“It's for Sandor," she explains, twisting off the top.

"Ohh," Emily smiles, shaking her head in a peculiarly knowing manner. She heads back in, tapping Sandor on the arm to get his attention. "Thanks," he says as she hands him the beer, and he takes a long swig. "No bother, just let me know if you need anything, Sandor," she pats his hand with a little grin.

 She turns to leave to see what Emily wanted, but he grabs her hand, "What's gotten into you? You've been like this since we got on the road this morning."

She shakes her arm at his rough hold on her, and his sister chooses this moment to come in from the kitchen, declaring, "Sandor? What in God’s name are you doing?" He lets go of her, and she draws away from him. But she can't pull away from his sharp tongue as he bursts out, "She'd been pricklier than a porcupine and now acts like I'm fucking Jesus come again."

His sister tries to mediate, "Sansa realizes you're only trying to help and is being nice, okay? You said so yourself on the phone, she'd show her true colors when she felt safe."

"You think I'm just some manipulative whore, don't you?" Sansa yells at him, hurt by his words and dodges him to run into the kitchen. She's not crying, she's just upset.

She can't make out what they're going on about, but Emily comes in the kitchen alone. "Sorry, girly, he doesn't trust too easy. Especially if someone's being as sweet as you've been to him here. He doesn't think you're a whore, he just is scared you're being manipulative." _He knows she just a whore, too._

"It's okay, it's what I am," she feels resigned to what she's become. She's better off like this than weak like she was.

"That's not okay. You don't have to accept that," Emily tries to get through to her. Sansa just feels emotionally drained, and looks up at her, "What about this tour?" to get off the depressing topic of herself.

"Okay, well, we're in the kitchen and the laundry is in that closet. There's a half bath under the stairs. Then upstairs,” Sansa follows her up the stairs in the middle of the house. “There's my room, then Jackson's, and the bathroom. Then, over here, facing the front of the house is San's and he's got his own bathroom. He said you can have his room while he's away, which is most of the time, bless him." 

“His room?” she looks up at her.

“Yep,” and Emily opens the door for them to walk in. She’s surprised how much light is in the room though the sun is setting. Windows on two walls and his navy bed looks so comfortable under the vaulted ceiling with rustic wood beams. “It’s a full bath but only a shower.” Sansa nods at her, but she feels overwhelmed after all the uncertainty of the past days for Sandor to share this with her. She’s speechless with wonder and decides to run downstairs to him.

He’s sitting on the couch, done with one beer and on to his next, when she turns the corner into the living room. He looks up at her almost wary but that doesn’t stop her, and she sits right down on his knee much to his chagrin. He starts saying, “Sansa,” but she cuts him off with her hand, “No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’s got his hands around her waist as he picks her up off him and stands, saying, “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.” He’s holding her at arms’ length, but she just weasels her way in to hug him.

She continues, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry and for you not to be mad at me. I’m so happy you’re letting me stay here.” He seems to surrender then and just pats her back against him. She then hears Emily, followed by Jacks, giggling at the scene before them, so she breaks away, feeling a bit shy in front of these new people all of a sudden.

“You’ll be staying in Jacks’ room while San’s here, okay, and you, little bugger, will be staying with Mama.” She jokes with a laughing Jacks.

“Okay, you’ll be across the hall if I need anything ,right?” she addresses Sandor.

“Yeah, I guess,” he seems confused at why that should matter, but after only sleeping in the same room or cab as him for the last few days, it feels oddly strange to not be. Her fears revolve around them taking her in her sleep or when he’s gone. She doesn’t know how she’ll handle him not being here, but at least, she’ll be in his room.

The four of them settle in to watch a movie Jacks picks out, Sandor in the chair and her on the couch with the other two. She’s still unsure about how she’ll get along with them, but she’s comfortable enough to find her eyelids getting tired as the movie drags on and she falls asleep all curled up in a blanket on the couch with her new family of sorts.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Home time

After popping off a coyote that morning, Sandor stalks back with his rifle over his shoulder towards Darrell's and sees him out watering his cows and that donkey of his, mean old beast named Stonewall. 

"Got ya one?" Darrell looks up, squinting through the early daylight under his ball cap. That there donkey will actually take care of any coyotes that dare to enter the fields. Still, there's a host of 'em out in these parts.

"Yeah," Sandor hauls the carcass into his shed, hearing that damned donkey start he-hawing. 

"I sure do appreciate ya taking care of some of these coyotes." Darrell  starts his work preparing the skins to sell. In his junk shed on the other side, Sandor spots the makings of an old scooter. _That would be perfect for the girl._

"That scooter over there work?" He asks his neighbor. 

"Uhh, that blue one, I think one of the hoses blown on it." Darrell looks up, surprised at the inquiry. 

"How much ya want for it?" Sandor asks.

"You can have it, for this," he motions to the skin, since they usually split the profit. He nods, extending his hand out to shake on it. 

"Jackson big enough for that now?" Darrell questions.

"Not for him, there's a girl going to be staying with my sister, and this would do her." He nods to Darrell and starts wheeling the old thing up to his garage. After cleaning his rifle, he sets to work on fixing up the scooter. 

Dirty and starting to break a sweat as the day warms up, he hears the crunch of gravel as someone comes over. "There you are," Sansa sings.

"Didn't know you were lookin?" He turns a wrench, looking intently at his project. He’ll need to run into town for parts.

"Emily has some breakfast ready. What's this?" She crouches down next to him. _Why does she have to right up next to him?_ If he hadn't moved to the chair last night, she would've wanted to be right next to him, he could tell. _Crazy teenager._

He sighs, taking a moment, looking over to see her smiling face. She shouldn't so easily smile at him like that. 

"You're all dirty," she fusses over him, smiling even brighter, looking around for something to who knows, clean him. 

"I'll take care of it," he rasps with slight irritation. At this, she looks into his eyes so caring it makes him forget what else he was going to tell her. "Does it work?" she smiles, and he can see that hint of victory in it that bothers him. 

"Not yet," he puts the tools down before getting up, might as well go in and eat, he’s done about as much as he could without going to the store. She stands in one fluid motion, setting her hands on the handlebars, and deems, "It's darling,"

"It's yours," he speaks plainly as he's washing off all the grease in his sink before heading in. 

"Sandor, you did not just say this is mine." He nods looking over to see her hands on her hips, looking incredulous at him. Then she's coming toward him, and he holds his hand out, "No hugs, I'm not your damn uncle."

"But Sandor, you're so good to me, and I don't know how to make it up to you," she looks up at him so sweetly. 

He motions for her to let him pass, "Well, let me go eat." Her soft laughter at his actions floats around him as she follows.

Sitting down in the kitchen, she sits next to him, her food untouched waiting for him. "I helped," she gleefully informs him. "Oh, is there anything you need?" She asks, making to get up.

"I've got it, sweetheart," he hears Em's caring tone as she brings a steaming cup of black coffee to him. _Hell he could get used to this._ Emily always tries to make his home time easy for him, even without Sansa catering to him. 

"Emily, Sandor got me a scooter!" Sansa cheerfully exclaims to his sister, making him smirk at how cute she's being. 

"A scooter?" Emily questions, and he can tell it's for him. 

"Darrell had it sitting out, let me have it for the coyote fur," he explains, putting her at ease that he didn't go buy a new one for the girl. 

"Coyote?" Sansa looks over at him as she spreads jelly on her biscuit. 

"Went out hunting this morning, little bird, nothing in season right now but there's usually a coyote lurking around I can get for Darrell, he owns the farm next door,” he relates his morning to her, finishing his plate and getting up.

"What else are you planning to do today?" she sounds hopeful but unsure. 

Glancing at Em, she shrugs, meaning she has no plans for him. "I need to get some parts," he scratches behind his neck. Sansa is biting her lip, looking like she wants to ask something but won't. "Need something?"

"Well, I need the address so I can order my bank card and set that all up on a computer. Also, I'd like to go with you," she looks down, seemingly worried he'll say no.

"Go grab your stuff, and we'll figure this out before we head out," he tells as her smile returns and goes upstairs to get her papers. 

Emily starts, "You know, I need to take Jacks over to Max's house soon. Plus I want to talk to you sometime about Sansa. She seems like a sweetheart, but you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, San," she looks over at him, with a smirk but also a note of worry he can tell, leading him to take a long, deep breath. Guess he can't borrow her car for the errand either. "You'll be going out tonight, right?" She asks and he nods, as usual.

"Expect an upset girl," she gives him a look, throwing the rag in the sink and heading in the den. _What does that mean?_

Sansa comes down and gets the laptop from Em, so she sets up there on the kitchen table. She's keeping her papers all to herself as she maneuvers to her banking site. Next to her, he provides the address for her, and she clicks to enter it. The next page has a summary and there plain as day before she turns the screen from him is $10,000 as her account balance.

"Christ, girl," he can't hold back, "you said he gave you nothing." 

"It's none of your business," she clicks away. "And I said I would pay you back."

"He gave you that much money?" He's shocked, he wishes his account was that flush, the more he puts in, the more it goes out.

"It's my money," Sansa grits out under her breath, all spun up about it, and he can see her hold back from ranting about it. _What does she mean her money exactly?_

"Just appreciate it, okay?" He sits back, hoping she relaxes. 

"He controls my trust, okay," she enunciates with that attitude she gets, "That's why I'm doubly pissed." _Jesus, she is a rich, little thing_ , he looks at her astounded. Then it all starts to fall into place, this is about money, no wonder there's all this trouble. "Please don't tell your sister," she breaks his train of thought and looks down sad. 

"Okay," he reassures her with a little pat that serves to brighten those blue eyes. He's turned women on with a touch but never brightened them like he seems to do his little bird. It's different, like she's a special friend, different from Emily but similar, too. _What on earth is Em planning to tell him?_ He tenses remembering her comment. 

"You got everything done, little bird?" He looks at her still peering at the screen. She replies, "Just about, I should have some stuff arriving tomorrow." 

He snorts at her efficiency and gets up. Em and Jacks head out the door, so he tells her, "Em's taking the car and I don't drive the truck when I'm off, so I've got to take my bike. You can stay here, I won't be long." The girl huffs at him, hands on her hips as she stands, "But you said I could go with you." He sighs, wondering why this is so important. She follows outside where he pulls the tarp off his bike.

"You have a motorcycle, and it's blue, too! Please let me ride with you," she focuses her sweetest smile at him, and he feels powerless. "Fine. Here, wear Em's helmet and her jacket." It's a little big on her but it will do. He slips on his gear and straddles his bike to get it started.

The girl gets on behind him, and he's reminded of why this is a bad idea. He turns around to face her, seeing her red hair poking out from her helmet, "You've got to hold on to me, okay? Lean with me when I do." She nods, her helmet bobbing enthusiastically. "Yay, let's go," she playfully pounds his back now that he's facing the front again, turning the clutch. He feels her arms go around him but not able to meet in the middle, and he presses on the gas and they're off. 

After getting the parts, he pulls into the department of motor vehicles to get the girl a permit and plate. "This is for you to go to school on, you understand?" He makes clear as he sits next to her with the paperwork. 

"I understand," she mocks but good-humouredly. They definitely get some looks cast their way by the array of people waiting. DMVs are the worst. He's used to you it enough, and the girl doesn't seem to notice. She is striking with her long, red hair, blue eyes and tall, thin frame. He couldn't even miss her going seventy miles per hour down the interstate in the dark. 

"I think I'll just put the address in from my other card," Sansa suggests.

"You'll need a Tennessee address to get your license here," he explains.

She looks up at him so serious, "I don't want to tie my name to your address, you don't want that." 

"We'll handle it, okay, little bird? You shouldn't lie, even to the government. I'll show you all the security features before I leave in a couple days, including my firearms. Can you shoot?" he asks.

"Hell yeah, I can shoot," she beams at him, then looks back at her papers. "You can't leave in a couple days."

He ignores her brooding and instead tells her, "I want you back in school before I get back again. You think you can handle that for me?" He uses whatever fixation she has with him to motivate her. "Okay," she answers, timid all of a sudden. 

Their number is called, so he goes with her to help straighten everything out. One has to start living honestly at some point, and hopefully the girl will start to see that and choose to fight to be who she is, whatever that may take. 

Back at the house, she of course wants to help him with her new ride, and it's good for her to learn. However, Emily comes out and warmly asks Sansa to play some video game with Jacks inside. Sansa looks to him, and he nods for her to go. So she glumly walks inside as he warily looks at his sister.

Once Sansa's in the house, Emily starts to spell out what she has to say, "You know your 'little bird' has a crush that is likely not to fade as long as you keep giving her things like scooters and taking her around on the back of your motorcycle."

“You know that's ridiculous, Em," he grits back, "do you see me? What teenage girl would have a crush on this?" He points to the scars he'll never forget he wears.

"She exists. She's right there in our house. I'm not blind. I don't know what you did, but she now acts like you're her white knight, prince charming or whatever."

He laughs abrasively like the snarling hound he is, _girl's very confused if she thinks he's that_. "She's gotten like this after I kept her from being taken by two rough fellas outside Philly."

"Well, she's attached all right. Came in this morning and woke me up when she couldn't find you." Em looks at him with her eyebrows raised in all seriousness. He can't help but smirk in response.

"Oh, you think it's funny,” Em gets heated. “Are you out of your mind? Playing with the heart of a teenage girl who will be staying in your room when you leave? I hope you haven't done anything improper with her."

"Hell, I wouldn't do that, Emily, I'm not stupid," he defends.

"Really started to doubt when you showed up here with a teenage girl, who's fucking gorgeous to boot and trips over herself to please you." _Why does he keep smirking at her accusations?_ Just Em getting riled up, she'll probably get personal soon.

"Don't you remember how upset you were about me being with Jacks's dad when I was just a little older than her? He was only 25, too. You'll be 30 next year. She's too young and troubled as it is,” his sister emphasizes.

"I'm not that asshole, and I'm not going to fuck her, Em, happy?" He bites back, angry he even has to say it, breaking off a screw on the scooter and letting out a string of curses. "I'll be gone soon as it is and maybe she'll find some boy at school."

"She's too much like me at that age, San," she shuffles her feet, "and all I wanted when you left for the navy was someone to take care of me, even if I thought I could take care of myself." He still remembers hunting down that fucker who got her pregnant and disappeared. He didn't have many teeth left after he was done that's for sure. Still makes him angry despite how much Jacks has been good for them. 

"What do you want me to do?" He glares up at her, getting up to search for something to fix his mistake. 

"Just don't lead her on," Emily snips back.

"I'll do my best, didn't realize I was at all," he shakes his head, _crazy women_. Today would've been so simple without those two. "Em," he remembers their security issue. "She's had men after her. Stay alert, they may find her here and don't sleep or leave the house without the alarm system on."

"Goodness gracious, San, what have you done?" His sister's eyes go wide.

"You'll be fine, they'll want her alive," he's not sure how to reassure her. He doubts there will be an issue. Those two back in Scranton are due to be in jail for shooting up the place likely. If they dare to come here, they'll get some metal for sure. 

"Alright, if you say so," she tells him, though he can see she's annoyed by the situation and heads back in. Sansa doesn't come right out, so he's relieved to have some time on his own, just what he's used to as he tinkers away and gets the engine at least running.

That night after dinner with Sansa by all appearances asleep on the couch, he gets up and slips his jacket on, feeling Em's eyes on him. He checks his phone for Margot's message and where he's meeting her this time. 

"Sandor, are you going somewhere?" He hears her sweet, little voice and looks up to see Sansa getting up and walking toward him. 

"Just out," he tells her, wanting to avoid this.

"Can I go with you?" She yawns. 

"You're half asleep, little bird," he laughs. 

"But I want to," she smiles up at him. 

"No, Sansa, stay, go to sleep, I've got to go,” he pushes more than he should.

"Oh, you're going to leave me here,” she starts to sulk.

"You'll live," he remarks, annoyed.

"Will you be back soon?" she looks hopeful again.

"Not likely," he sparsely replies.

"I guess you don't care if something happens to me then," she whines louder, waking Jacks on the couch. Em takes him upstairs, giving Sandor a look, like “I told you so.” 

"Sansa, I'm going to be gone soon. I can't always be with you. I need some space. You can take care of yourself,” he has his hands directed at her to keep her distance.

"But you haven't shown me where any guns are,” she tries to reason.

"I'll do that tomorrow or the next day,” he tries to pacify her.

"What is so important that you can't be here with me?" she cries.

"That's my business, girl," he moves to the door, but she jumps out before him and starts walking down the drive, _stupid girl without even her shoes_.

"Sansa, stop, you're making a big deal out of nothing." He yells after her sorry figure.   
Catching up to her, he turns her around in his grasp, not too rough, to rasp, "What has gotten into you? I usually go out on nights I'm here, and I'm not going to stop just because you throw a fit."

She shakes his arms with hers, trying to get away from him, "They could be watching me now, ready to take me when you leave," she sobs at this admission, buckling in his grasp. He heaves her up in his arms, the light little thing, and carries her back inside. _Poor thing is still scared to death._

He sets her down in the kitchen, pointing out the button she can push to request police emergency. She seems to calm but just looks so sad, hurt even, and he doesn't know why he hates it so much, hates himself for causing her more grief. She doesn't even try to hug him or anything as he softly grazes her hair and shoulder, trying to make her feel better but having no luck. He just leaves her there, not willing to give up his night or set a precedent.

Drinking a whiskey down at the bar, he can't seem to get her sad eyes out of his head. It's not sustainable what she was making him out to be, he reasons, but it still makes him feel empty and not up to his usual self. He doesn't even notice Margot slide in next to him, till she nudges him, voicing, "Do you like it?" He turns to see her new bright red hair and feels himself go cold. That glass of whiskey should be broken by his grip on it, but he'd also really love to hurl it straight at the bar mirror. _Fuck him. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hard to write Sandor engaging with any other woman for me, so I'll leave it up to you if he actually goes through with it or not. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV

Sleep is the last thing on her mind that night. Instead, Sansa decides to go through his guns on her own, pistol upstairs, shotgun over the door, and a host in the garage. _At least this education she has from Peter._ Next she pulls out Emily's computer to do some searching on Ramsay, downloading Google Earth for satellite views of his place in Florida. She wishes she could just shoot him and be done. _Fuck Peter's plan for her revenge._

At some point in the night, she shifts to knowing it's really just her. Sandor has his own life, evidenced by the chick he's probably out banging. Still, she can use this opportunity to get her shit together like he says. Maybe she can stay with someone at school instead or get her own place once she has a job. Fake IDs are easy to make.

Hearing her solitary breaths in the night, she hates that empty feeling nagging inside her at the prospect of a future alone. At least when she turns eighteen, she can get control of her trust, but what then? First see if she lives till then. 

She hears Sandor arrive back on his motorcycle, earlier than she would've thought. Guess he's not one to stay the night. The keys at the door startle her even though she knows it's him. She doesn't think he sees her before his head whips around at the start of the stairs. "Little bird," he coughs, "that you?" turning her direction. 

"What other red-haired maidens be-est here," she jokes, making to look around. 

He softly chuckles with a slight smirk on his face. "Whatcha doin’ up?" He yawns. Seeing him again raises those conflicting feelings that made her freak out at his departure, but she sees clearer now. 

"Just go to bed," she speaks with a hint of bitterness seeping through.

"Is that a gun, little lady?" He slinks toward her, picking up the piece she settled on for herself. 

"You said I could have a gun," she moves to grab it, but he pulls back in time. 

"I said no such thing. You can't run around with a gun in the house. Jacks is eight, he'd shoot himself," he gets heated, so she just settles back down with her computer, ignoring him. 

"Sansa," he tries to get her attention.

"What?" She doesn't look up at him. 

"You understand?" He stresses.

"Sure," she raises her brow sarcastically. "I'm not your child, you can't tell me what to do."

"There are rules in my house. I don't want a loaded gun sitting out. I'm not crazy,” he lectures.

"How else am I supposed to protect myself, asshole?" She pushes back.

"I'm taking this up in my room, and it stays there. Get it there if you need it." He decides for her. 

"All these fucking rules you make up, I doubt I'll be here long," she glares at him now about to go upstairs. He sighs, his feet dragging as she hears him clumber up to his room. 

Once the day started, there was a stalemate between them. She didn't wait around for him to have breakfast or speak to him at all. His sister went to off to work, taking Jacks to school even, and she still kept to herself. Her shipments coming in around lunchtime, she sat in the kitchen and got her bank card set up, her cell phone, and ordered some items, clothes, too, of course. She checked in with Luther, who hung up as soon as she told him where she was.

Sandor came in at one point to see if she wanted to look at security features with him. But she told him she already knows where all the guns are. 

Bored with her computer, she decided to take a walk. Sandor's working on projects in his garage, but she bypasses him to walk around in the woods. Stopping at a large sycamore, her hands rove over the soft skin, it's white bark twisting into grays she thinks are wonderful. _Oh to swing around this tree would be marvelous._ She sits and reads until Jacks finds her. _Guess they’re back._ It's almost supper time, he tells her, but she points to the trees, making up stories as to what their lives as humans entailed. _If you're lucky, you'll be a tree one day,_ she tells him. 

Walking back, he mentions the farm, so they both stand at the fence line, watching the cows chomping away. She thinks she may like Jacks best of all, he's a good-natured, inquisitive child.

Sitting down at dinner, she smiles to Jacks as she digs into her spaghetti. "Took ya long enough," Sandor says with a huff, laughing it off.

"Sansa liked the cows, and she told me about the trees."

"The trees?" Sandor gives her an odd look.

"Just made up stories," she says, her eyes on her meal. "Thank you for supper, Emily, it's wonderful to have delicious home-cooked food." She smiles at her new friend. 

"Why thank you, hun, you're always welcome here," Emily responds warmly. "I had a hell of a day at the salon. Your hair, it's such a beautiful color," she compliments.

"Thank you, it's all I have left of my mother," she gives her a small smile. Peter had wanted her to dye it, but she refused. She knew he liked it too much anyways. 

Helping her with the dishes puts Emily in a good mood, "Will be nice having a girl around here. We can fix each other's hair, watch movies, someone can give me real advice on how I look before dates."

"Oh, you go out, too?" she asks, hearing free babysitting more like it, but Jacks isn't any trouble really. 

Emily gives her a measured look, probably guessing she put two and two together with Sandor, but stays on the surface, "Just on dates sometimes, hopefully things will work out with the current one."

"Oh, that's fun," Sansa replies, not really caring. Maybe she'll find some rich boy at school who will fall in love with her and give her everything. 

Emily dries her hands on a towel, "Ya know, you should really say bye to him at least tomorrow. He cares about what happens to you and has done all this. Yeah, you may be too young for him for more, but you shouldn't push him out because you'll lose him completely like that." 

The audacity of her to assume anything about her feelings makes the anger bubble up inside, though Sansa tries to settle it. "I know, I was just trying to be nice," she leaves it at that and walks over to sit with Jacks and set up her Facebook on her phone, hoping they leave her be. 

Weird seeing her old name on an account, hopefully she'll have friends soon, she sighs. She used to have such lovely girl friends back before she went with Peter. She was so lonely at first, after not getting to say goodbye to Jane, Lily, and Anna. Maybe Lily is really good at violin now, and Jane has caught the eye of that neighbor she liked. Anna was always good at everything somehow. Why couldn't she have just been happy instead of pining away for some future of excitement? She knows too well now that if her life is to be an exciting story, it must be rife with drama and intrigue with her life in jeopardy at every turn. And that’s just wearing her out.

She didn't even realize she has tears running down her face until Jacks asks, "Are you okay, Sansa?" Her eyes scrunch as her hand flies to her face detecting the evidence of her crying. "Fuck," she swears racing upstairs. 

As much as that stupid part of her wishes it was Sandor, Sansa is relieved Emily is the one who knocks and enters. Sitting by her on the bed, Emily's hands trail through the end of her locks as she apologizes, "I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean to upset you. I know it's hard not having parents and that's why we want you here with us." 

She sits up, looking at Emily, "It's not that, it's just weird."

"What do you mean?" Emily gives her a confused look.

"Like being Sansa Stark. I had been someone else for so long and sometimes I remember what it was like to be Sansa, but things are so different. The loss," she stops herself from going further. It's hard to talk about these things. "I had friends, family, but I was stupid."

"Hey, don't be too hard on yourself. I've learned that if anything from having Jacks. I felt like I failed him from the start, so I had to be the perfect mother and I was miserable, which only made him upset. You just do what you can, your best, okay? And take it a day at a time."  
Sansa nods, looking over at Emily, who wraps her in a hug. "It will fall in place, you'll see. Just takes time and hope."

"Okay, enough with the therapist quotes," she jokes but kind of appreciates it. 

"Silly girl," Em huffs a laugh, pulling on her hair in jest. "Want to hang with us tonight?"

"I think I'll stay up here and read," she shrugs, wanting to finish her book. 

"Okay, just say bye to him tomorrow. He's been a sad puppy today," she winks at her with a pat, getting up to leave. 

"Can we go to the school soon?" she requests.

"Yeah, maybe the next day, alright?" Emily nods on her way out.

"Okay," she sings, getting into her pajamas and then opening her book. At least tomorrow night she'll have his room. 

The next day, she wakes to Sandor at her door, "Little bird, wake up for breakfast." The light is strong, making her see red in her closed lids, wanting to sleep more. She had probably stayed up late finishing her book, but she had to know Jessa was able to make it out of the Monitor's grasp to save Andy before the book closed. It was so perfect and the next one will be just as good hopefully, she smiles, wanting to stay in her sweet escape.

"Little bird," he inflects in a funny way, making her grin. Emily probably sent him up here. 

She grunts her response, "Mh," to signal she's aware and semi-waking. She comes to the door in her pajamas, "This better be good breakfast."

"Don't want to miss my waffles," he smirks, following her back downstairs. 

"Hey Emily, hey Jacks," she waves, getting a glass of milk before sitting down. "I can't believe you drink whole milk."

"Less processed that way," Em explains. "Thought you'd be beating us up."

"Finished my book last night, so was up late, maybe I'll go to the library tomorrow."

"Cool," she voices.

"I've got your scooter ready," Sandor says in his heavy tone.

"Thanks, I can't wait to try it out," she responds cheerfully, glancing over to see him watching her in a way, his eyes trying to read her. She's still trying to wrap her head around the ups and downs of the last several days, so she can imagine he's had enough, too. 

"Can I have a ride?" Jacks looks between them. Sandor decides, "just along the drive," and the boy smiles over at her. 

After breakfast, they walk out to where her new, or rather old really, scooter is resting. Sandor points out how to start, having her sit while he wraps his hands around hers on the bars to start it with the clutch. She finds herself looking up just to watch him, wanting to remember him just like this before he leaves. Her sense of safety will be even more disabled without his presence entirely.

 "Sansa, are you listening?" she hears his stern voice reprimanding her little daydream, remembering what it was like to feel completely safe with him. He must see the sadness come over her, because he tells Em to take Jacks inside for a minute. 

"What's wrong, little bird? You’ve been sweet as pie then act like I don’t exist. I know you’re a girl, but still.” He lets go of her, but the damage is done. She wishes his touch didn't make her break out in emotions like it's own allergic reaction. His touch just does something to her, but not like with Peter, she shakes her head to not think of that now. 

"I just don't feel safe anymore. I'm scared to sleep. Scared that you're leaving," she admits.

"Hey, you should consider going to the police about this guy after you. Who is your uncle anyway to stop you?" Sandor tries to get her with logic.

"They won't help me," she looks up at him, believing what she knows, and feeling trapped in this world that wants her under their thumb. Even if free, what will she have? Will she be the lone tree in the field riddled with knots from suffering to grow?

"You don't know that. You're still a minor, anything they catch you on can't hold after you're an adult." He doesn't have any idea what she's capable of, Sansa thinks, looking down again and kicking at the gravel. That's why she'll care for herself, one day at a time like Emily said.

"I'll be fine, I'll take care of myself, okay?" She pushes, with a glance so he knows her seriousness. 

He nods, a hint of pride in his eyes, but she wishes it wasn't like this, that her dad was still alive and knew what's best for her. That she could still be that sweet Sansa with lovely friends. "You're strong, you know that. To get away in the first place, I don't doubt that took a lot," he expresses a hint of a smile. "You better be here when I get back in four weeks, or I'll find you, ya hear?" He raises his brow in question.

"Four weeks!" is all she can comprehend, standing up. 

"And that's short," his sour laugh chills her. _What a life._

"You can't be gone that long" she finds herself shifting towards him, weak as this man makes her. 

"Little bird, I got to make a living," he shrugs, sitting down on the scooter she got up from. 

"I want to say bye before you go," she edges closer between his spread legs, feeling herself soften to him, wishing he could keep her safe, "Unless you change your mind about taking me." His eyes roam over her only in her little pajama shorts and tank, making her breath shallow and heat spread through her. 

She moves further to lower herself on his knee, but he stops her with his direction, "Go ahead and get changed so you can take Jacks for a ride. You can say bye after I get the truck ready." His strong hands grip her elbows to push her back before Sandor stalks off to rummage in his garage. She's left frustrated, not understanding what he really does to her and why he must push her away. He decides everything.

She chooses to shower in his room, setting out a dress to throw on after for another hot day. The warm water always helps to clear her mind. Maybe Sandor being away will be a good thing, she can focus on getting a boyfriend at school. Stepping out she grabs her dress and panties to slip on, looking out the window down where Sandor's working. Seeing him head in the house, she decides to stretch out on his bed in hopes she can mess with him.

Stepping into his room, he doesn't seem to see her as he heads to his closet, pulling out a suitcase. About to drop it on the bed, he stops, hovering with it looking at her with alarm.

She just cackles with laughter at him, "how could you not see me?"

"Little bird, what are you doing here?" still startled in his voice.

"I took a shower and thought I might take a nap since you woke me up so early," she stretches her body out with a fake yawn just so.

He sighs, frustrated she can tell.

 "I guess I can go if I'm bothering you," she skips out to see Emily packing up food in the kitchen for Sandor.

“Let’s go for our ride, Jacks,” she beckons to the boy who’s more than happy to follow after her. He climbs on the back of her little blue scooter, and they zip down to where the cabin is and then turn around. The gravel makes it a little tricky, so she doesn’t punch it. Still, she’s planning to have a lot of fun on this thing getting around Knoxville or what did they call this part – Powell? Still she feels free to have the wind in her hair and the carefree laughter of Jacks behind her. Heading back up to the house, she stops with a little flourish right in front of Sandor’s feet. Laughing as she turns off the engine and helps Jacks off.

“Well, I guess you got the hang of it,” he seems a bit disgruntled. _Poor puppy_ , she chuckles to herself.

“Don’t worry, I’ll still need you to fix it when something breaks again,” she winks at him.

“Hopefully that won’t be for awhile. Go easy on the old thing,” he voices.

Emily comes out with some of the supplies, and her chest seizes up to see them packing his stuff away in the truck that’s already running. _Not yet._

“Bye Uncle San,” Jacks somehow has a cheerful tone, but he’s probably used to it, Sansa muses as she watches Sandor pick the boy up, much like when they arrived. She stands there stoic as she continues to observe their exchange and Sandor hugging his sister goodbye. After that he looks over at her, locking his eyes with hers, and she feels her head shake no. He swallows, nodding to her, his hand comes out to beckon her over, so her legs move to him, running until she crashes against his chest. She feels his arms around her, gently petting her hair as he tells her all about being safe and what to do, to call him if she needs anything, and she knows she has to let go. His sister is right there to separate them no doubt. Still, she sighs against him, then unwraps her arms around him to peer up into his deep, gray eyes that look so concerned for her, it makes her want to believe all his promises as impossible as they may be.

Then, he climbs in his truck and heads off to work another month, pulling his horn on the way out. Sansa just watches, Jacks and Emily going inside, she sits on her gift, touching every facet of it, wishing he were still with them or her back on the road. She shouldn’t have wasted that day avoiding him, she should’ve soaked it up. Then she remembers how he left her, just like now, and walks back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are awesome :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV and Sansa POV

**Sandor POV**

Sandor's sitting at a waffle house in Texas, this huge fucking state that he always seems stuck in. They're all so proud of it, too. Texan is it's own thing, not so much southern, just Texan. They're quick to remind you that they can separate as their own country whenever they want. Thank God they ended up in Tennessee. They're just proud of whiskey. 

So tired, the coffee does nothing and all his eyes want to do is close, but he's got to make it tonight. He orders his usual breakfast, jerky was wearing on him, and sits in the corner to be left alone. No point in talking to people you'll never see again. He gets up to put a coin in the juke box while he waits, anything to get his mind going. Some heavy metal just to mess with everyone else. 

His truck has been giving him hell. He's already radioed his dispatch and is going to have to stop in and get it checked out. That'll cost him.  _Why is this trip so different?_ It keeps getting harder, but he just feels burnt out and alone. A bad alone, like he could be with his sister, his nephew, or even that fucking girl he doesn't know what to do with, but he's slaving away on a rig for the money. Not much more suitable work, he hangs his head, banging it slightly to the song that sums up the anger in his heart. Since when does Sandor Fucking Clegane feel like he's missing out on life, he laughs bitterly at himself, it's all just survival. Em's been trying to get him to come back and work somewhere now that they have the house, and it's just steady bills. Wouldn't work, she'll move out again with some guy she thinks it will work out with this time. 

"Here ya go, honey," the waitress brings all his food and tops off his coffee. He definitely can't drink like he used to on this job, driving all the time. He barely has a six-pack before he's drunk these days. That whiskey went straight to him the other night. Margot wasn't pleased with his antics but doesn't really matter. She's patching things back up with the husband evidently. He'd bet she'll still be there for him, there's a weakness in women once these things get started, they don't tend to say no to a good fuck. Men'll fuck anything though - he's seen it on the road. Some of the most pitiful prostitutes you ever seen hanging about the main stops. 

Getting back on the road, Sandor watches the sun gradually lower over the prairie, not without shedding beautiful colors through the sky. Nice sunsets in Texas. The darkness is fully encroached when he gets his near daily phone call from the little bird, "Sandor?" 

"How's my little bird been today? Good?" He amuses himself. 

"Fine, I'm not a child," she's always one to point out her maturity with just the right air of petulant, he smirks.

"So yeah, Powell sucks, everyone's a cow-milking peasant. That hasn't changed." He laughs, the girl thought she'd go to school and make rich friends for some reason and find some boy to bankroll her. He's been hearing her complaints about Powell the whole trip. "Dylan is still cool though, we joked about dying my hair black or bright, bright red since ya know his is colored."

"Why would you do anything to your hair? Only if Emily does it. And what kind of boy is this that dyes his hair?" he asks.

"He's like one of the only friends I've made, so shut up." He smiles at her bit of insurrection, trying to suppress a yawn.  

"He introduced me to this girl, Mirtha today who seemed real emo, with cutting and all that. I don't get all the black and stuff but they're alright." Sansa mentions in her nonchalant, teenage attitude.

"Be careful who you get involved with. What about class?" He brings up her favorite topic.

"I thought you needed me to keep you awake," she quips, earning a laugh from him.

"Sansa, at least tell me you're going." He goes over this everyday.

"I was, but ya know. I did go to half my classes today just for you, big man." He can hear her feigned sweetness over the phone as she laughs.

"Well, thank you. Stranger and I are proud. Shoot for another one tomorrow. I better not see you smoking any cigarettes,” God, he feels like her father, hard to believe she’s just over half his age.

"You know I only smoke weed, man," she jokes back, but he better not find her doing that either. 

"Alright, little bird, be careful and it's better for you to be without it." Like he's one to talk substances. At least that debt's paid.

"What else is going on?" He asks her.

"Well, this Charlie guy came over for dinner tonight. I didn't like him. Looked at me too much. I think Emily could do better,” Sansa points out.

"Hell, I've been telling her that for years. She can't stand anyone I set her up with, but she somehow meets the worst guys." He shakes his head, worried about his little sister.

"He didn't even talk to Jacks but wanted to know how old I was and where I went to school. I just said I was your girlfriend to make him shut up. It worked." Sansa laughs, and he joins her but stops realizing what she said, leaving an awkward pause. "Don't worry, I just lied to get him out of my hair. For someone who thinks she has relationships figured out, I'm surprised at your sister, and Jacks just seemed unfazed by all of it."

"What did I tell you about lying?" he stresses.

"The truth is boring and not helpful sometimes," she whines, making him smirk at her cute answers.

"I'll talk to Em about this Charlie, but you are pretty, Sansa, and it can distract men,” he tries to explain.

"Wow, thanks for telling me I had no clue about it," she says in that sassy tone she gets, scoffing. "But I'm like sixteen." 

"Sansa, you can't play both cards, saying you’re older than you are but still playing the age card," he lays out his view.

"Hell yes, I can. Just because I look older than sixteen doesn't change the fact that I'm still only sixteen with the actual maturity of a teenager,” Sansa is having none of it.

"Exactly, so try acting your age,” he throws back at her.

"I'd be dead or worse if I just skipped along acting my age, Sandor. And we both know that." she pushes back, and as much as respects her feistiness, it gets under his skin. She could have a little more respect for him.

"Okay, lay off the attack mode,” he attempts peace. She's not laughing though, and he knows her fears are right under the surface all the time, even if she plays confident and in control. "Any signs of Ramsay? Scooter still in order?" He asks.

"No sign, don't say his name, okay? I know who you're talking about without saying it,” she lets him know in a small voice, pulling at him for upsetting her so. He hadn’t brought it up yet in their talks, but it’s always there unspoken between them – when will he strike again? She continues, “The scooter's still going good. The baby could handle the interstate,” she adds with a little humor to cover her sobering reality.

He laughs, "Don't do that." and then sighs, giving her the bad news, "May have to drive a few more days as the truck needs fixin'."

"Oh no, please say that's not true," she reacts, and to hear her change to a simple, distressed tone, not with her typical zing, warms him somehow. It's a part of her she keeps hidden. "Emily mentioned going to the lake maybe. I guess Charlie has a boat. Hopefully, it will still work out."

"Not sure Charlie will last that long," he remarks. Hopefully not after he talks to Em.

"He told me all about his _boat_ ," Sansa inflects, giggling, the nerve to joke like that with him.

"Wish I had been there to set him straight, trying to mess with my girls," he reacts, not thinking through his words.

"Aww, we're your girls. I'll have to tell Emily!" He hears her fawn over this slip in sentimentality.

"Yes, you're my girls, of course. Too bad Jacks is left out of your party." He just goes along with it. Her happiness can be infectious, even for someone like him.

"Emily said we're going to have a girls' movie night since I haven't seen _Mean Girls_ or _Clueless_. And she's going to curl my hair. Your girls will send you pictures of all the fun you’re missing," she's back to being the sassy, little bird, running with this little turn of phrase. Still, he's surprised at the empty feeling in his gut, like he's hungry, so he reaches for some deer jerky to fill it. He laughs at himself wanting to be with his girls. 

"I miss you though, it's scary here without you. I'm scared they'll find me at school, defenseless,” she turns serious.

"I'm sorry, little bird," he voices. She often expresses this concern, and it makes him feel so weak to not be able to do anything. He balls his fists around the steering wheel, and let her know, "I saw some guys looking at the truck a few days ago, not sure if it was anything." 

"That's not good," she sounds glum.

"You can defend yourself in that house, Sansa, and we'll look at adding a concealed part to your scooter than can be locked but easy access for a firearm." He’ll do whatever he can to make her more secure.

"That would be good. I just want to shoot them all," she admits. He sighs, knowing her vengeance is a dangerous road, but he's not one to point her away.

"This Dylan boy gonna be your boyfriend?" he asks, trying not to care.

"I don't know, probably not. All the boys at school are lame." Sansa responds, making him shake with laughter.

"Can't expect much from Powell, though it sounds like you found an odd one, what with the hair dying,” he scoffs.

"Whatever," her got-to, eye-roll response. "I guess I'll let you go, school night and all that," she laughs, and he hates the end of her calls, just back to him and the never-ending road. 

"Bye, little bird," he tells her, "Sleep well." 

"Oh I will, this bed will be nice and warm for you when you get back," she jokes, coy.

"Sansa, you don't talk to me like that," he gets on to her. _She'll be the death of him._  

"Oh no, I did a baddie," she giggles sweetly, and he hates that it turns him on a bit.

"Be good, Sansa. You don't flirt with me," he's had to get onto her for this multiple times. "I don't want you flirting with any man, only boys at school if you must."

"But that's no fun," she pouts. "What about teachers?" 

"Definitely not," he firmly states. Girl needs a fucking warning label. He can just imagine her there in his bed, just like when he had left but in her little pajamas and her hair undone, flowing around her. So cute but so sixteen, he shakes his head at the thoughts that make his guilt worse. _Can he ever really do right by her if he has this attraction?_

"Okay, bye Sandor, miss you," she tells him in that sincere little voice of hers that makes him want to keep her safe no matter what, even if that means from him.

 

* * *

  

**Sansa POV**

_Low blow_ , Sansa laughs as T calls Cher a "virgin who can't drive" in _Clueless_. Emily just rolls her eyes with a smile. She texts Dylan the line, saying she's probably T in this scenario, does that mean she gets a makeover?

"You may not be a virgin, but you already have Cher's style," he replies.

"I'll be Dion, but I do have T's thing for grass..." she responds. 

"Killed another dozen zombies, if only everyone were this productive," he brings up.

"Hey, I'm educating myself in high school bullshit," she texts back. 

"Haha. Started the book. Step-dad was home so was out and bored,” Dylan replies.

"Cool, it's good," she texts back. She'd run into Dylan hiding out between two stacks in the back of the school library when she was avoiding the stress of lunchtime. 

"What brings you to my corner of the library, new girl?" He'd smiled at her, sprawling out on the old carpet. It's the South, so there were lots of friendly faces but no one really took her under their wing, not like she wanted that, of course. But none had the sarcastic flair of his either.

"A book," she'd said like it was obvious.

"Oh, a reader, rare occurrence," he smirked. He had been on his phone with no books in sight. 

"You don't read?" She made it sound like that would be so uncool, and it is to her. She should get Sandor some books on tape – that would've made the drive easier than his old rock music. 

"I..." he looked perplexed at her, "guess I don't know what to." 

"Well, none of that lame shit in class," she sat down, pulling out the book she was rereading and handing it to him.

"I've got to get the next one at the store after class," she'd laid back against the bookshelf. 

"Can I invite myself to this excursion?" He'd smiled in an over exaggerated fashion purposefully, making her laugh.

"If you can ride on the back of my scooter," she'd allowed and a tenuous bond formed. _Still, he was probably only reading the book to get in her pants, but why not enjoy the attention before she crushes his dreams?_

"San texted me back." Emily shows Sansa her phone, "He says 'my girls are beautiful,'" in response to the picture of them both dolled up from their beauty time. Emily has an amazing collection actually, and she did her nails, her face and hair, while dressed in their girliest pajamas. Still, Sansa hates how elated it makes her to hear his compliment, _she just has to be special to him_ , she shakes her head at her ridiculousness. 

It's hard not to think of him when she sleeps in his bed every night, uses his shower, and sees all his things. Emily washed the sheets, but she saved a pillow with his smell that makes falling asleep easier, especially with the risk of her dreams taking her back to Florida, which scare her awake every time. 

"Let's call him, it seems like he's been down," she suggests to Emily. 

"Good idea, he has been particularly glum this trip," pressing call.

"Yes," Sandor answers, the noise of the road in the background. "Hey San" and "Hi Sandor" they cheerfully sing at the same time. 

He chuckles, "Y'all bored already?" 

" _Clueless_ is just finishing, and then we have _Mean Girls_ ," Emily lets him know. 

"Okay," Sandor replies as though he has no clue, but she knows he welcomes any break from the road. Sometimes he just wants her to keep talking so he stays awake, he says.

"Emily's making sure I know everything about being a high school girl," she smiles at his sister, who laughs, "Exactly. I wouldn't mind you being Cher, but not these mean girls we're about to watch." 

"Yes, don't corrupt our sweet Sansa," Sandor laughs sarcastically. 

"I am sweet," she whines. 

He just chuckles. _Why does he get to tease her but she's not allowed to flirt?_ She doesn’t even know when she’s doing it really.

"You should be proud of her," Emily jumps in, "Sansa leaves every morning on that scooter and always has her nose in a book. And you've made a new friend, right?"

"I told him about Dylan," Sansa doesn't know what the big deal is. 

"You should bring him over for dinner when Sandor's here," Emily suggests. 

"He might be cool with it," she shrugs. 

"What's going on with this guy you're seeing?" Sandor brings up, "Sansa didn't really like his vibe, I guess." Her eyes go big to be brought up like this, and she looks to see the curiosity plain on Emily's face.

"He just paid too much attention," she softly explains with her brows tensed up.

"What? Why'd you tell Sandor and not me?" Emily is perplexed.

"I just talk to him more," she's not sure what to say.

"More? He's on the road." Emily is not understanding.

"Emily," Sandor repeats, "It's not a big deal."

"Okay," she can tell Emily's just going to let that go for now. "What is the deal with Charlie? He's nice."

"He just asked me a lot of questions about school and my age that he wasn't asking Jacks. It weirded me out, so I said I was Sandor's girlfriend and he left me alone." She sits up straighter, let Emily deal with her side of things.

"Whatever," Em sighs dramatically. "Don't go around saying you’re my brother's girlfriend, okay, miss sixteen?" Her mouth falls open, unsure what to respond, but Sandor breaks in, "You'd be better off with Darrell than these online finds of yours." Sandor must bring up a bone of contention between the siblings at the tone Emily takes next.

"Darrell," she laughs sourly, "Let me get this straight, Sandor Clegane, who prefers married women, knows best." _Married women_ , she swallows hard, feeling herself sway a little as an uncomfortable feeling settles in her chest. 

"Emily!" She hears him grate sharply through the phone, but it's distant to her now. 

"Oh, you didn't want her to know," Emily feigns innocence. She's just quiet, looking at her hands, taking in a shaky, deep breath. _This doesn't change much that she didn't assume already_ , she tries to reassure herself. Emily has the decency to pat her hand and say sorry, but Sansa just sits back impassive and watches Cher, now together with Paul Rudd's character. That's weird, he's like her stepbrother, but she did want a college guy. Maybe she's just as clueless.   
"He wants to talk to you," Emily tries to hand the phone to her, but she just shakes her head. "Tell him I'll call before I go to bed." Not knowing if she'll keep that promise or not.

"Alright, Mean Girls, it is," Emily announces, saying bye to Sandor as she switches the movies. "I know what we need first, ice cream," Emily has her hands on her knees sitting next to her with a big smile trying to cheer her up.

"Okay," she allows a little smile as they head to the kitchen. Em's even warming up hot fudge to drizzle along with whipped cream. 

Emily mentions as she's dishing it up, "I feel bad Jacks is missing out, but he's probably having a ball over with Max."

"True, I know how much he likes ice cream, that's the first thing he tries to get out of me when you leave the house," she laughs, feeling lighter again. 

Settling back down, Emily brings up, "Ya know, you could apply to work part-time at the salon if ya want, like as a receptionist."

"That would be awesome," she grins over at Em, who's pressing play. "I'm tempted to add some bright red highlights or something. Maybe black."

"Girl, I will not let you dye it black. You know how hard it is to maintain a light color for girls with this dark mane. I'd kill for blond or red, but mine's just as dark as San's. I add some highlights at least." 

She smiles, "I like it. Sandor looks like he should be in his own rock band. I thought he dyed it."

Emily laughs, "Him dying it would be funny. If he slept harder, we could pull a prank on him and give him bleached streaks."

"He'd kill us," Sansa laughs at the image. 

"I'd be dying it back at knifepoint," she adds. "Gotta love him." She thinks for a moment and then asks, "Did you not have many girl friends before?"

The question surprises her, but she admits, "I did when I was in middle school, before I went with Peter."

"You had to move with your uncle?" She asks as the story starts with a new girl in school, sounds familiar.

"Yeah, I traveled with him and he got me a tutor, that I didn't need for long. I have a hard time focusing on my teachers here because I know plenty."

Emily’s smile turns thin-lipped in response, "You can always learn more. Why else are you reading all the time?"

"I like the stories, they're like an escape," she shrugs. Peter was always finicky about what she read, saying she wasn't old enough for some books. 

"Well, we all need those," Emily responds in a particularly sober voice. "Hence _Mean Girls_ ," her smile returns just as the girls are explaining what outfit goes with what day. 

"We should go clothes shopping," Sansa thinks out loud.

"You have ordered a closet full though," Emily messes with her.

"You would do the same thing after only having a dirty dress," she nudges her. Might need to ask Luther for more funds... She really has liked being with Emily, she just hopes she doesn't get in the way of what's coming for her. Sansa mulls that reality over for a minute, wishing she had a gun in her lap, before escaping back into the storyline.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, Powell is a more rural/farming community within Knox county. Still counts as Knoxville :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Down time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a sunny chapter, I hope it's not boring :D More excitement soon!

"It's just an interview," she said. The little bird applying for jobs for him behind his back, sneaky little thing. Probably all lies she made up, too. This isn't what he had in mind for his first day home in a month.

"Yes, I worked in a grocery store before, now I've been trucking for three years." He tells the lady manager. He's never had finesse at these things, and he knows his chance is docked the moment they see his scarred face, tall frame, and his bright, cheery disposition. 

"Veteran? What branch?" She pipes up.

"Navy. SEALs." He gives a straight answer, adding with a brush of his jaw, "let out after injury to my leg." He hates when people assume the scars are from his service. He's lucky to have his leg after the way the VA treated him. Worthless bureaucratic mire. Sansa'd talked so hopefully about this, when it pays too little. Just like everything else. Still, would be nice to sleep in his own bed more and not his cramped cab.

Leaving there, he heads back home to rest. Em is hopeful at the door, "How'd it go?" 

"Y'all shouldn't be meddling," he scowls at her to which she grins back. 

"Your girls just want you home more," she smiles with amusement. "Evidently, one of 'em took it into her own hands, and I'm not talking about myself." She laughs at him. 

"Crazy girl, exaggerated everything about me, and no doubt you supplied all the gaps," he shakes his head, stalking into the kitchen for a beer. 

"Don't be such a grouch. We're just trying to help," Em shrugs. "She's bringing Dylan after school for dinner by the way. It's kind of nice having her around, she's helpful in her way," Em relates. "She thinks of you a lot though, bringing you up pretty often. She says you talk every day," his sister's eyebrow rises, wanting him to confirm this detail.

"What am I supposed to do? I'm bored on the road, and she'll call me," he knows she talks to him too much, but it helps. "I'm not giving it up, I need to know she's safe."

"Oh, safe," Em nods. "Why so defensive about it then? I wasn't accusing."

"Em," he slumps down on the couch, giving her a look to stop.

 "Just be careful," she purses her lips before heading into the kitchen to fix supper.

He must've catnapped because he wakes to Sansa's high-pitched call, "Sandor!" and then feels her land in his lap. Strange laughter echoes in the background.

"Sansa," he jokingly gets onto her, his hands finding her waist to lift her off, but he allows her a hug when he stands.

"You went to the interview, right?" She looks up at him, sparkling with excitement.

"Not you, too," he scoffs.

She pouts a little at his response, not pleased, her eyes dim as she turns to the gangly boy behind her. "This is Dylan," she turns to the boy, her hand goes to his shoulder, smiling at him, "Dylan, this is Sandor."

The boy nods after just a glance to his face. "Hello," the boy says sarcastically to fill the pause between them. 

Sandor puts his hand out to see what he's made of. The boy takes his hand, firm for the spritely creature, and gives him an uncertain look in his eye. Sandor jerks him forward slightly with a squeeze of his hand, "Be careful with this one," he motions to Sansa. He grins at the even more unsure look that falls over the boy when he looks at Sansa and his mouth fall opens trying to form words.

With a hearty laugh, he looses Dylan, snickering, "She should come with a warning, I tell ya." As the boy begins to share in his mirth with a small laugh, Sandor falls silent, looking at Dylan and crossing his arms, intimidating.

"Stop torturing him. He's just my friend," Sansa snips playfully, pulling at his arms to loosen his stance. He smirks, looking down at the far too pretty girl. She just tortured the boy more than he ever could with those three words, "just my friend." Dylan would have to be blind or gay not to fancy the little bird, and Sandor didn't miss the glum look on the kid, probably too late for his warning. _Who could understand Sansa about these things?_ He snorts at that thought, knowing his own confusion about the girl, who's already flitted into the kitchen to see Em. It's good the two girls getting along, an ease for sure. He follows their laughter to get another beer. 

Sitting down at the table with Dylan and Jacks coloring, he takes a good swig before asking the boy who's already whipped out his phone, "How do you know, Sansa?" 

"Uh," he looks up from whatever game he's playing. "The library," he says as if it's a joke. "She's kind of into books," he rubs his hand up the back of his nearly white hair. 

"Oh, Sandor," Sansa comes in from the kitchen, obviously listening in to them. "I got some books on CD for you, ya know, for the road. They're from the library," she smiles then adds in a silly manner, "so can't keep them forever," and grabs her bag to show him.

He narrows his eyes, looking at her from next to him, not sure about the idea. She doesn't hesitate to persuade him, "If you like the story, it will make the drive go by faster than the same old music you listen to," she gives him a sly smile. 

Insulting his music now, he smirks, she should pay for that. "Hey, I didn't ask your opinion," he playfully squeezes her side that has sidled up next to him. 

"Sandor," she jumps in surprise before turning to beam at him. He could kick himself, he sighs, he's not supposed to touch her like that. She had said over the phone it was unfair he got to tease if she wasn't allowed to flirt. It's hard when she's right there. 

Sansa helps Em get dinner to the table, and they take their seats. His sister talks to the teens, " _Pyre_ has been good. Thanks for the book, nice for when I have a break. Have been telling the plot to all my clients."

"Yeah, that was a good one, where are you at?" Dylan asks her.

"Oh, when Lira incinerates her mother's house right after she found out about the locket," Em answers, appearing rapt with the storyline.

"Oh, but of course, you know now Judith isn't Lira's mother and that’s why," Sansa responds, flippant.

Emily gasps, "How did I not realize that? Makes sense now."

"I'm not about to join your book club," Sandor laughs at the three of 'em. _Sansa giving him books on tape even._

"Whatever," Sansa side-eyes him, "It's your life." Then redirects to his sister, "If you liked _Pyre_ , you're going to love the book I'm reading right now, _The Three-and-a-half Witches of Scarborough Lane_. It's kind of a period piece though but cool use of spells," she shrugs. 

"Going to start writing your own books?" He asks Sansa, "English classes wouldn't hurt."

"Sansa has started coming to English class with me since Mrs. Gallaher's not so bad," Dylan pipes up. 

"I know I liked you," he grins over at him, which makes his scars stretch in a disturbing way. The boy gulps, looking back down at his food. 

"Yay, I'm going to English," she sarcastically admits, stabbing the broccoli with her fork before mumbling, "What does it matter? No one's going to read anything I write."

"Now I know that's not true. Dylan here would, and if it's about witches who blow up shit, Em will be all over it," he smirks, looking at his sister. 

Em laughs hard before excitedly agreeing, "Oh my god, you should."

"But you wouldn't," Sansa softly comments, giving him a disappointed glance as she avoids eating more. _Likely he wouldn't though._

"No dessert unless you finish your food, you two," Emily chides them as she coaxes more broccoli into Jacks.

Sansa gets up from the table, "I'm finished," heading into the living room with a confused Dylan behind her. Gods, he's like a little puppy.

"What did I do now?" He glances at his sister. 

"Does that mean I get their dessert, too?" Jacks interrupts with a big smile to his mom.

"No, but you do get a brownie," Em kisses the top of his head as she releases Jacks to run into the kitchen. 

Answering, Em purses her lips amused before starting, "She's excited you're back but then has to realize you're still an asshole, brother. You listen to her talk everyday, so she thinks you're going to be all about her, I guess, when you're here. It's better for her that you are just you. I swear the girl has so much personality, I don't know which one I'm dealing with sometimes. What bits she tells me about Peter are worrying?"

"I have a bad feeling about that uncle of hers, and I wouldn't be surprised if he came back after her,” Sandor takes a swig of his beer.

"That would be interesting,” Em cocks her head, “I wonder what he’d be like.”

"You'd need to let me know immediately. I don't think she should be allowed back with him," he gives Em a serious look that he means it.

She nods, “Of course,” then a thought must come to her, "Also, she didn't think twice about handing me a book with a few explicit sex scenes," Em’s eyes go wide.

He chuckles at that. Then points to the two kids, “Poor Dylan,” and they share a laugh at the kid who likely has a crush on the impossible girl.

 Em looks down at her nails, "Things didn't work out with Charlie, but a client of mine asked me on a date," she smiles at him. "He knows about Jacks already, too. Maybe he thinks I'm smart now that I'm a reader," she laughs.

"You are, sis," he raises his brows to convince her he's serious. 

"Beauty and brains," she rubs her knuckles on her shoulder haughtily as a joke.

He snickers, "Just no heart," emptying his beer bottle.

Pretending to be upset, she pushes him in jest. "Unfortunately, too big a one of those," she shrugs and looks over at the pair on the sofa. "Sansa, on the other hand, was a mess, really put out over there being no rich boy to place under her thrall. You should've seen the outfits she wore. Better you didn't. I'm more worried she's secretly on some sugarbaby site or webcamming. She's got to be making money somehow." Emily's got him worried now, looking at the pretty little bird. She looks so innocent with those big blue eyes. He knows how she is though, and he shouldn't underestimate her. He remembers how sick he felt when she offered herself to him in that dingy motel room.

"I'll talk to her," he nods to Em, thin-lipped. Hopefully, it's just her trust money she's been spending carelessly and not her own enterprising. Still, the idea could enter her head. 

"Dylan, let's get you home, boy," he speaks over their TV show. 

"I was planning to just stay," he looks at Sansa, then Emily.

"Yeah, he stays over, down her on the couch sometimes," Emily offers.

"Didn't realize I'd taken in two teenagers," he gripes before taking his spot in the recliner and asking for the remote. 

"I'm finishing this show first, big man," Sansa twirls the remote in her hands in defiance. 

"I can always catch up on sleep," he grins back at her. 

"My chair, San" Jacks comes in after his mom, pointing at him with a smile.

"He thinks he's big enough for your chair now," Em explains, “and has claimed it now that the couch is full with these two.” 

"It'll be yours again when I'm back on the road, son," he reaches over and tousles his hair before patting him over to his mom. He sighs, looking at the crew on the couch, relieved to be here for a couple days.

The next morning he works on Sansa's new compartment in the scooter. She probably is vulnerable at school, but as long as she stays around people, she assumes they wouldn't risk a capture in broad daylight. No, they'll follow her here. She'd set out her gun of choice, a Glock is probably smart, and he can tell she's been in through his small arsenal again. He wouldn't be surprised if she slept with a pistol under her pillow. Still, he doesn't understand why she can't go to the police, he'd assumed that uncle was involved in the government somehow. Why would that be a problem?

"Ready for the lake?" Sansa sings, walking out in her bathing suit to him and making him do a double take. Too much of her, he shakes his head from gazing at her, then sees the smile plastered on her face. She doesn't miss anything.  She continues, "We decided to go anyway since it's still warm. Fuck Charlie and his boat." He laughs at her swearing, he likes that zest she has, not letting anything best her.

"Pretty much got this done. The Glock slips in here like so," he points out on the scooter.

"Thank you, Sandor," she sincerely grins, shifting towards him. _Why do they have to be like magnets?_ Not thinking, he runs a finger down her bare arm, stopping below her elbow and swallowing hard, forcing himself to stop and head in to get changed. He's got to stay away from her like this. He could see himself taking her pretty, smiling face in his hand and kissing her right there. She wouldn't have stopped him, no, she'd probably succumb so sweetly, he shakes his head. “Sandor?” he hears her questioning refrain behind him.

"Have her put a dress or something over her," he states to Em before heading upstairs to throw on some swim trunks. 

After dropping a glum Dylan off at his house, they head to a beachy part of the lake near a boat ramp. Getting out he grabs some of the toys they brought for Jacks, even though he's started to outgrow some of 'em. Won't be too long till they have to deal with his teen antics, he scowls.

Taking off his shirt to get in the water, he sees the little bird peeking at him, leading him to smirk over at her. Em sets herself up to tan on the shore with all their stuff. "I just turn red and end up with freckles," he hears the little bird chirp to his sister, looking unsure in her slouched stance.

"Help her get covered in sunscreen, Em. Don't want to hear her whining when she's a lobster. I've got Jacks," he nods to his sister and hoists Jacks up on his shoulders. Carrying the boy, he wades into the cool water far enough to fall and topple Jacks straight into the lake. The kid yelps from the cold impact, surfacing to ask him to do it again.

From out there, he glances back at the girls and can even make out the stack of books they didn't forget to bring, he snorts. Feeling Jacks splashing him, he ducks under to find the boy and lift him straight out. They play for a while, and Sansa even comes in for a bit, trying to join in. He avoids touching her though, even playfully, because he knows his hands would want to roam. Something about feels natural but wrong at the same time.

Jacks gets out, tired, so he tells her "Going to swim some, little bird." He does several laps, keeping his distance from the boat lanes, everything becoming water and sunshine as he works his muscles. He could never get enough of swimming, wouldn’t’ve become a SEAL without it. Back towards the shore, he stands, not seeing Sansa, only Em and Jacks. 

"Where's the girl?" He wades back out of the low water, slinging his wet hair in the warm afternoon. The kind of weather you just want to be naked in like Adam and Eve.

"She said she left something in the car, but that was about twenty minutes ago," Em answers. She looks up at him, unconcerned, going back to her book. That's about how long he'd been swimming.

A smidge of fear goes through him at her missing, and he immediately stalks over toward the parking lot. He's barely walked back when he sees her, beer in hand as she flirts with a group of boys getting their boat set up to head into the lake. _Fucking girl, so careless_ , he berates her in his head, as he watches a boy hands her another beer. These guys aren't her age either, college-age, and she probably told them she's eighteen. Thinks she has it all under control, too, likely.

"Sansa," he calls to her, approaching. She turns noticing him but then shifts away as she turns up her beer, guzzling it in defiance. 

"Who's this, Bridget?" The boy nearest to her asks, laughing as if this is some joke. _Bridget,_ he scoffs, _this girl_ _will truly be the death of me_ , he shakes his head. 

Ignoring the guys, he pulls her arm for her to face him. "What do you think you're doing?" He sternly challenges her. The other guys step back at his tone.

"Chill, dude," she tries to wriggle her arm free, unsuccessfully. "I'm just going to go out on the boat with these new friends of mine. I'll make it back later." 

"Yeah, let her go, man" one of the boys steps forward. He viciously scowls at the boy, "She's fucking sixteen," pulling her closer. Not wanting to argue more, he grabs the beer out of her hand and throws it away before dragging her behind him, tossing her over her shoulder as she refuses to cooperate.

Before he gets back to Em and Jacks, he drops her down gently on the shore, holding her arms so she can't run. "What are you thinking, girl? Running off with a bunch of boys too old for you. What would you have done when you're alone out on a boat with them. You think they'd be nice to you, all alone like that. All they see is a little fun, you're just cock-sucking equipment to them," he shakes her. She weakens, starts to fall, and he lets her sink to the ground and takes the place beside her. Breathing hard as the anger coursing through him slows.

She's quiet, looking defeated with her hands busy in the gritty sand, so he just stays with her. After a few thick minutes of her depressed silence, his fingertips rest on her forearm, and he tries softer, "Are you okay?" 

She shrugs him off, looking down further, "I'm surprised you even noticed I was gone." 

"Of course, I did," he insists. "What's wrong?"

"You were just ignoring me," she mumbles, looking at him with hurt eyes before kicking some sand and trying to get up. 

"Wait a second," he follows her up. She crosses her arms and looks to the side, standoffish. "I didn't mean to," he grapples for words.

She lits into him, "Yes, you did. You act like I have some disease and you can't even look at me or touch me. And I feel so stupid to think it would be any different this time," she ends weakly, pulling away from his hands that try to calm her.

"You're sixteen, Sansa. I know we've been over this, and you're mature for your age. But I can't," he rasps, looking at her as open as he can be.

"You can't even be my friend?" She persists.

"I am," he holds his hands out, though he knows he wants more from her, it's not good for her, him either. "And that's why I want to keep you safe, little bird. Even from me," he adds, his eyes open wide to convince her.

Her eyes go wide in response, understanding his statement. He nods, more to reassure himself, but feels too exposed to her, like she won, making him admit that, and he turns toward Em. Grabbing his shirt and slipping on his shoes, he barks, "Let's go," to hurry them along.

He checks his phone on the walk to the car, and lo and behold, Margot remembered when he'd be back in town. The last thing he wants is to deal with another woman. He can tell it's not just sex for her anymore either. Sitting in the driver's seat he texts out, "it's over." He'll find something easier later. 

"So you're going out tonight?" Assumption in Em's question as she untangles her hair, not looking at him.

"No," he bites, backing the car out and heading home. He looks in the rearview mirror to see a hint of a smile on Sansa's features as she stares out the window. 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV

Circling her pencil around on her paper, Sansa already wishes class was over and it just started. After this, she can scoot home, she smiles, bending her line into a horrible version of her ride. Dylan passes her a note that Mirtha is going to get a tattoo after class if she wants to come, but she glumly shakes her head no to him, not in the mood.

She already misses him, her big man back on the road. The first day or so is the hardest, she tells herself, it’ll get easier. It’s just hard that he can admit that he likes her, but she still can’t kiss him goodbye. How will she convince him? Maybe she can prove she has another identity, her true self, who’s eighteen…what will her name be? She’s really a Lizzy or maybe Evie or Alexandra. More fun than boring Alayne.

It’s more than just missing him though after what he left her with – concerned she was being a camgirl or worse. She can’t say she hasn’t thought of doing porn when she turned eighteen, but for him to say that, actually worried about it. So what she blew threw the money Peter allowed her, she was going to start working at his sister’s salon part-time. Her mind continues to swirl with all the negative things he must think of her, and she just wants it to stop. At least he had apologized, looking truly distraught, blamed Emily, and held her for awhile, stroking her hair. _It’ll be okay, we’ll figure it out,_ he’d told her, placing a kiss on her forehead. That tiny, supposedly insignificant kiss makes her hurt now, knowing she may be in his grasp but he’s not in hers. No, he decides everything, and a part of her hates him for it.

Sansa pulls out her phone, texting him, “Asshole,” just to mess with him, hiding it fast.

Walking out of class with Dylan, she smiles to see his reply, “Bitch.”

“Ya know, it’s kind of weird between you and your guardian dude,” Dylan mentions casually.

“I don’t care,” she snips, glaring at him slightly on the subject.

“Whatever,” Dylan sighs, “See ya tomorrow,” he walks off to find Mirtha. She stops, sighing, _Crap, is he still my friend or did I fuck that up?_

Getting to her scooter, she pulls out her helmet, eyeing the Glock for reassurance it’s still there. Looking up, she sees the black car from yesterday, all tinted windows, parked directly across from her and the lot over on the side of the street. Her skin prickles and she looks down, running her hands down her hair, trying to think. Sandor says she safest at the house.

Starting down the road, she takes a curvy route, giving her little ride all it’s got. Looking in her side mirror, she sees the car following at a distance. At a particular sharp curve, she pulls into the immediate side road, hiding behind a bush. The car sails by, and she releases a deep breath of relief.

Waiting for a while, she continues on back to the house. Driving straight up to the porch, she ditches the scooter, grabbing the Glock and sticking it in her pants. Thank God, Emily and Jacks are out, but maybe they know that. She trembles with her keys on the lock before rushing inside. If they know where she goes to school, they may know where she lives.

She’s just turned off the alarm in the kitchen when she hears the bang on the door. Oh no! It’s not over. Her trembling increases, and she tries to remember what Sandor told her to do. She needs to get to his room. Her hand hovers over the alarm, wondering if she should signal for police as one of the top windowpanes smashes. An impish voice croons, “We know you’re in there.”

Grabbing the Glock in hand, she runs for the stairs, hearing a shotgun bust a hole through the lock, sending stray bullets, and then another as she feels the sting of a pellet against her ankle. Limping, she makes it to Sandor’s door, locking it behind her. She goes to the closet, shielding her body behind the metal Sandor set up. The bleeding is coming fast, so she grabs a shirt of his to wind around her ankle. Sandor said there would be a clean shot from here, and they’d have to enter the room to get her. Her adrenaline is pumping, but her hand stays level as she aims her Glock for the door, waiting. If they get to her, she’s done.

It’s only seconds until the sound of the shotgun banging open the door startles her, making her let out a few shots desperately. In the blur, she sees the man with the shotgun, still standing, cocking the shotgun at her, and she fires rapidly into his chest. His body swivels as the shotgun falls from his grasp, and he staggers back against the wall, sliding down it.

The other man makes his appearance using the distraction to hurl Sandor’s dresser towards the closet, firing bullets at her. She pulls back, takes a breath, wincing from the throb in her ankle, as bullets hail from the man’s firearm. He stops, waiting for her, and she takes a shaky breath, not know what to do.

Deciding to distract him, she grabs one of Sandor’s empty ammunition boxes and lobs it through the closet door. The man unloads on it and a bullet burns her wrist. _Fuck!_ She seethes, cradling it. She moves slightly, and the man attempts to fire but he’s out of bullets. Cursing, he makes to retreat, but she pounces. Her eye sure, she limps from the closet, taking aim in the position she’s mastered and hits him square in the head. She watches frozen as the life goes from his eyes.

Dammit, her leg is still bleeding. She looks around the room, seeing the smear of blood down the wall, and she swallows as her eyes fall on the dead man, holes in his chest and blood pooling around him. God, the blood, she wants to vomit. It hits her, _she did this._ She drops the gun, grabbing her arms. What adrenaline is left makes her edge to the window to see if anyone else is out there. Only the black car in the drive.

Making her way to the bathroom, she gets a towel to stop the bleeding at her ankle, sitting down on the bed. _What does she do now?_ She wonders, looking around the room again at the carnage. Can’t even leave the room for the blood. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and calls Sandor.

“So the bitch calls me,” he answers, light-hearted.

“Sandor,” she starts, “They found me. And I killed them.”

“Wait,” his tone turns serious, “What do you mean?”

Her voice is shaky as she tries to explain, “Two men, different from before, came for me, and I went to the closet like you said. Then I shot them.”

“I’m coming there now. I don’t care,” Sandor grits out.

“No, what do I do? There’s so much blood,” she cries out.

“You didn’t hit the emergency button on the alarm system? Yes, call the police. It was self-defense, Sansa. Hang up, call the police and call me right back,” he stresses.

“Okay,” she ends the call, shaking as she comes off the adrenaline.

Dialing 911, she explains where she is and the situation. Sitting on the bed, not ready to attempt crossing the lake of blood, she calls Sandor back.

“Sansa,” he answers, “I couldn’t get Emily. Write down our numbers, okay, if they take your phone. Are you okay? How did I not ask that first?”

“I guess. Some shot from the shotgun got my ankle. It hurts like hell. I got brazed on my right wrist, too,” she relates her injuries.

“A shotgun, fuck,” he swears, “Sansa,” his breathing gets heavier, “I’m so happy you’re alive, and I’m talking to you.”

“I know,” she aches to have him wrap her in his arms, “I wish you were here.”

“I’ll get there as soon as I can, I promise. Call Emily,” he tells her, and she hears the sirens coming.

“Okay, I think they’re here,” she lets him know.

“Call if you need anything, little bird,” he insists. “I’m here.”

“Okay, I miss you, bye,” she replies, distressed.

The officer arrives first, entering the house through the busted door. "Up here," she yells, though her mind races, praying  they're not a crooked cop here to finish the job.

"Christ," the officer curses with his gun aloft as he comes round to Sandor's door. She holds up one of her hands, the other pressed to her ankle. 

"You killed them?" He sounds surprised. 

"Self-defense," she shrugs, nervous to say anything.

 "We'll have to bring you in," he surveys the room from the door, calling in codes to the radio on his shoulder. "What's your name?" He pulls out a pad of paper.

She gulps, knowing Sandor would say, don't lie, so she states, "Sansa Stark." 

"Your birth date?" He asks directly, and she answers truthfully again.

The ambulance can be heard coming up the drive and he asks, "You're hurt. How bad?" 

"Some shot in my leg and burned my wrist," she holds out her arm. 

"You'll have to come through the blood," he motions to her, and she cringes knowing she must go through. Taking her first steps, she cries out, the pain ten times worse. The last thing she wants to do is fall so she takes her time, avoiding looking at the bodies. On the other side, he has her remove her shoes, while he inquires if she knows the men. She answers in the negative, keeping to herself that she knows who sent them. By then the emergency personnel are on the landing, ready to carry her away. 

After being rushed to surgery out of the ambulance, she wakes up not knowing what time of day it is, alone in a hospital room. She presses a button for attention of any kind repeatedly before a tired nurse shows her face followed by an officer, different from before. 

"You're awake, good," the nurse says, checking her machines. 

"Can I call someone?" She looks desperately at both of them.

"Sansa Stark?" The officer looks at her.

"Yes," her heartbeat spiking. 

"There's a woman asking for you, is she a relation of yours?" Lie, lie, is all she thinks, but she hopes the truth is enough. 

"Emily Clegane is one of my guardians," she explains.

"Okay," she motions outside the door, and then Emily is rushing in, taking her hand, "Are you okay? I can't believe it. Two men broke into the house and shot you." She nods, knowing it could've been worse. She could be in the back of their car to Florida. 

"We will need an official statement from you, miss," the officer gets her attention. "The prosecutor will decide whether to press charges." 

"Press charges!" Emily gapes at the woman. "She's barely alive, and you dare to raise that."

"Her wounds were not life-threatening, and the detective has a lot of questions for her," she brushes off Emily's concern. 

"Eliot," someone calls from outside, and the officer exits abruptly.

"Is Sandor coming?" She asks Emily.

"He can't make it for a couple days, he says he's sorry," she frowns. She goes cold wishing he was here, at least he is coming. He promised he'd keep her safe. The rational side wants to say he did help her evade this attack by helping her prepare and arming her, but she stills wishes he had been there. She fucking did it herself though and wouldn't take it back. 

"Visiting hours are over. Sansa, you are to be kept overnight for observation by the hospital," the officer informs her. Emily starts to protest, but she just tells her goodbye. Now to die of boredom till she can get home. 

Sansa's piddling with her shitty breakfast the next morning when the door swings open, and she looks up to see one of the tallest women she ever has, a shock of blond hair crowning her head. 

"Sansa Stark," she comes closer with what surprises Sansa to be a warm smile on her features. With an outstretched hand she introduces herself, "Agent Tarth, call me Brienne."  
She takes her hand unsure, worried who this person is and not saying a word.

After looking at her for a moment with that same smile, pleased and untroubled, Brienne continues, "You don't know me, but I've been looking for you for some time. Your mother had charged me with returning you from the Lannister family shortly before she died, but then you disappeared around the death of Joffrey Lannister. Now you have resurfaced, and I'd like to know why."

"I need my lawyer," Sansa states with no emotion. Her thoughts are anything but blank, swirling with the possibilities of what this woman means. Even calling on her mother! Can it be true?

"Alright," she steps out, returning half an hour later with a disheveled attorney who settles in a chair near her.

Brienne starts to pace around the little room, beginning, "Sansa, know that I don't think you were involved in Joffrey's death though implicated by certain persons I can only guess at. In exchange for your cooperation in this matter, I will look into your current predicament. Flayed men on their necks, I think I can take a guess," she stops and smiles at her. Like that is anything to be happy about.

"I don't follow, Agent Tarth," the lawyer responds. 

Brienne looks down shrewdly at the woman, "Your client was attacked yesterday, likely wanted alive or she wouldn't have survived. I know who committed the attempted kidnapping, but I need her to testify as the victim. I am asking that she assist me in another case to which she is privy, otherwise I will turn her over to Tennessee's bureau."

"Oh, I thought you were TBI, but you're FBI," her lawyer is surprised and confused.

Ignoring her, Sansa asks, "Can I think about it?" Not sure she can betray the man at the center of this. Not sure she has a choice. 

"I'll be here for a few days," Brienne smiles again, and the genuineness of it is wearing her down. Could she trust this person? Is she any more than a sole agent? For the first time in awhile, she wishes she could talk to Peter. She just wants Ramsay to go away, but how? She's probably got to leave here, she hangs her head. Maybe Sandor can drop her off somewhere new.

"Why are you Sansa Stark now after being off the radar for so long? I see you're even in school again. Somehow I missed that development. Just tell me that." Brienne tries to persuade her.

She looks to her lawyer who shrugs, so Sansa is vague, "At a certain point, you have to choose to be who you are." 

Brienne nods, thinking. Coming closer, she hesitantly asks, "Does a Peter Baelish still control your trust?" She freezes at his name as Brienne's eyes sink into hers. "I can't seem to track him down." Sansa gulps, looking away, beginning to tremble, as she feels trapped. 

"Hmm," Brienne sounds as she steps back, tapping the plastic at the end of the bed. 

"You may go now," Brienne hands her a card. "Call me by Thursday." She motions to the door, and Emily comes in with a pair of crutches.

"What about the police?" She looks up at Brienne. 

"I'll take care of it, just call," she nods and sweeps out of the room.

“Who was that?” Emily is asking her, but it’s like she’s hearing underwater, staring at the doorway where the mysterious woman just departed.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Back in town

"What are you talking about, Emily? Slow down!" Sandor admonishes her, yanking around the wheel of his truck. He's still thirty minutes out of Knoxville but evidently too late.

Emily talks a bit slower, "There was a man at the school. The scooter is in police custody, so I was picking her up to come to work at the salon. Sansa ran out to him by his car. They talked, then she kissed him-I couldn't believe it- and she got in the car before I knew to stop her."

"What do you mean kiss? Give me a description of the guy?" Sandor argues, trying to understand.

Em explains, her confusion clear, "I don't know what was in her mind. She kissed him right on the mouth, it was weird. He's got to be at least forty. The man was about her height, slight with short, graying hair." 

Sandor's eyes are bulging to contain his frustration. _How could she do this?_ "Did you talk to her? Who is he?" He grits out.

"No, but I would bet the town it's that Peter." He had come to the same conclusion, but why now? A little over a month of cutting her off, he shows up after she's nearly kidnapped. He cannot even fathom the kiss. His mind reels and his fingers grip the wheel harder as he barrels down the last stretch of the highway.

"You're probably right," he admits in response, and then reproaches, "I warned you about this."

"It all happened so fast, San," she pushes back. "It was a silver car, and I got the license plate, okay?"

"Thank you," he breathes out some relief. "Meet me at the house."

Letting Em go, he phones Sansa, which goes to voicemail. He leaves a clipped message to get in touch. He wants to crush the cell in his grasp, but then it vibrates. A message from her, _Hey, staying at hotel tonight, talk tomorrow._

He types back, _where are you? Who you with?_

Her short response, _Dntn, Peter, don't worry,_ does little to compose him. It's like she's under a spell, thinking everything's fine, when he knows she could easily disappear or worse. He wishes he could go back a few days to when he had her safe in his arms. This damn job. At least his union is paying off by working with his company on this breach and getting him something temporary in town. Like the girl appreciates it, running off with her uncle right before he's returned for her. 

Pulling back to his house, he stops the truck and vaults out, slamming the door closed. Rushing in, he breezes past the police guard and Emily to head up the stairs where crime scene tape hangs.

"He's my brother, it's his house," Em's arguing with the policeman. 

Looking into his room, he sees his dresser is gone, along with the rug, and he can make out the extent of where the blood must have been. He grimaces to see stains still on the front wall. He steps through despite the protests to see the closet, astonished at the bullet holes through the sheet rock pebbling the metal he had installed. She was smart to have come here. They would've actually killed her. Reckless hooligans. Would've probably carried her bloody body back all the way to Florida, and he would've never known if she lived or died. He sees some dried blood there in the closet and seizes up knowing it's hers. 

Well, he's here now, but she's off with that uncle of hers. Doesn't she know this wouldn't have happened if not for him. That's how he understands it. Coming out of the room, he pulls Emily into an embrace, hugging his sister tight, relieved she and Jacks are okay. "I'm sorry," he murmurs faint to her. She nods, seeming to relax, knowing he's here.

 Releasing her, his face grim, his determination sets back in. He stalks out to his garage and pulls up the metal door in one swift motion, heading to his gun cabinet.

Emily is close on his heels, leaning against the worktable, rattling off, "Sandor, I did what I could I swear. She wouldn't just go off without saying goodbye. That girl acts like you're the center of her world." _Until that uncle shows up,_ his lips remain pursed, _maybe that's where she gets it._

He adjusts his bulletproof vest over him, buckling it on with his side holsters. Emily continues, "I told her she didn't have to go to school, but she said she'd rather bore herself there with her friends than hang around Rita's. I don't think she knew he'd be there. She didn't even look for me. Went straight to him."

"It's okay, Em," he tries to contain her babbling as he sets out his firearms, checking them over and loading the mags.

"They were going to detain her I thought till that giant, blonde woman showed up yesterday," Em adds, exasperated. "You really think it's Peter?"

His eyes narrow at this new information. He mumbles, "She texted me it was him." 

"She texted you!" Em stands free of the counter, taken aback.

The slits of his eyes glance over at her, "She thinks she's alright, and it's just for tonight. I want to meet this uncle," he cocks one of his hand guns, the sharp sound of the metal echoing in the garage. He squints his right eye as he extends it out in front of him, preparing himself for the worst. 

He exhales deeply, setting each gun in its holster and shrugging into his leather jacket. Thinking of why he's doing this, the beautiful girl, sixteen, all alone. Sixteen year-old girls don't kiss their uncles like Em described. Shouldn't be normal for her. He'd had his guesses but this doesn't bode well. He wishes he knew more, what he does, what he's presumed, will have to do. 

"Don't get yourself killed," Em looks at him, forlorn, her eyes tearing at him. He squeezes her shoulder with a tight grin. He doesn't know why he’s bound to the girl he picked up on a whim and tried to offload as soon as possible. Pitiful state she was in. She's become a rare flower to him, his little bird, blooming into the dark despair that's always dimmed his view of life. He's not about to see her crushed. 

"Sir," The policeman tentatively approaches, "I need to ask, why are you arming yourself?" 

"I have a concealed carry permit. It's my right!" He growls at the poor excuse for a guard. He probably couldn't catch a chicken even if penned in.

He grabs his keys and starts up his bike, sliding over the seat. He yells over the noise to Em, "Text me Rita's address. I'll be back with Sansa." She nods, giving him a wide berth. The officer has scrambled away, clutching a phone to his ear, no doubt alerting the police. He gives his old bike some gas and with a harsh crack, he's sailing out of there toward the highway to downtown. 

Starting with one of the nicer hotels – _Lord knows these rich folk will be there_ – Sandor parks his bike on the street and walks through the garage, looking for the car to match Em's information. He finds it up a ways, stopping to look in the windows. Wonder if he can find out through the valet what room. He turns around to head there and finds a gun pointed at him. At the other end, holding it straight, if a bit rigid, is a particularly tall woman. Blonde hair, why does that seem memorable?

"Your hands up where I can see them," she demands, her tone cold and serious. He tilts his hands up, wondering if he should chance grabbing his nine to even the field. "Who are you? What interest do you have in that car?" 

"Going to tell me who you are?" He moves slightly to grab his phone, making her eyes bulge. She wants to shoot but fears what the noise will bring. "I'll call the police," he warns.

Her eyes squint, confused, and her lip quirks at his answer. She relaxes suddenly, the gun still aimed casually, but she pulls out a wallet with her freed hand. "Agent Tarth, FBI," she coolly states, flashing the badge.

His eyes narrow now as he tries to add it up. "Your name," she insists shrewdly.

"Sandor Clegane," he scowls.

She looks up for a moment in thought before resting her eyes back on him. "You are one of the guardians on Sansa’s school form," she relays this bit of information, more to herself.

"Yeah," he lets his hands fall. This must be the officer Em mentioned. Wonder how she’s tangled up in all this.

"Why are you here in this garage, looking at that car, packing two guns at your side?" she directs next, measuring him with her gaze. He exhales, frustrated, not wanting to deal with this woman taking her sweet time when Sansa’s at risk. "Answer me!" She snarls unexpectedly. _What's the rush now?_ He scoffs. 

"She's here. I'm here to get her," he bites the words.

"And the car?" she questions, eyes alert.

"He picked her up in it from school. My sister saw," he goes on, sidestepping to move around her. She moves to block him, her other handing returning to lock the gun on him. Guess FBI agents can do whatever the fuck they want.

"Who is he?" she asks demanding.

"Her uncle," he sneers at her. Doesn’t she know anything? Obviously, she must to be here at this car, too.

"His name?" Her eyes focus on him as though it's the most vital matter.

"Peter, happy?" he goads her. 

"Peter, you're sure?" She locks onto him.

He stares right back, "Yes, of course. Don’t know the last."

She drops her arms upholding the gun, seeming to mull this over. He moves to pass her. "Wait," she starts, and something in her voice beckons him to. "This is a special investigation. I have to ask that you not interfere."

"Like hell I won't. She's up there in a hotel room with that bastard," he spews at her. FBI or not, he's not going to standby and let Sansa get wrapped up in this. "She's sixteen for Christ's sake," he bellows.

She looks at him curiously, "Are you implying abuse?" 

"I wouldn't be surprised," he grimly answers. "Something's not right with her when it comes to Peter."

"Peter," the woman mumbles to herself. Gaining composure, she addresses him pointedly, "You must go."

"I will not," he drawls, finding amusement in working up this woman agent. "You working alone?"

She looks down, sighing in the most perturbed manner. "Under no circumstances will you fire your weapon."

"Only if by all means necessary," he pats his right side.

“Follow, do what I say,” she sternly informs him, putting her gun away and smoothing back her hair.

She leads them down to the lobby, pointing at him to stay by the entrance as she discreetly approaches the front desk. She’s leaning over the desk, whispering to the attendant, and pulling out her badge to show her authority. Evidently it worked as she nods to him to follow her to the stair well.

“Don’t trust elevators,” she murmurs to him on the ascent, carefully placing each step to be as silent as possible. At the fifth floor landing, she stops, turning to him, “It’s 511. You are to secure Sansa only. I will handle whatever the situation in there may be and whatever is in the hall.” He grunts his affirmative.

She peeks out the window into the corridor, gauging the all clear, she creaks open the door, gun in hand as she steps out. He pads behind her, hands on his two guns, as they walk the short distance to the first cross hallway. Tarth stops at the edge, arched in preparation as she listens. Slight footsteps can be heard and a low hum. He checks the numbers, and this is a turn they need to make. He looks to Tarth, and she nods as the incoming person nears.

As the man clears the opening, Tarth doesn’t hesitant to bring the butt of her gun down hard on the crown of his head. Then she springs back, to avoid the bullets that don’t come. Lucky then, he’s alone.

“Drag him to the stairwell,” she instructs him, handing him some handcuffs. He grabs the sod’s arms, dragging his heavy, limp form. He props his foot on the door as he works to heave the unconscious body through the frame. He clips his arm, the other half of the handcuffs circling the handrail. When he returns, Tarth’s finger is over his mouth shushing him. He scowls in response, lightening his steps over to her.

He can hear her breathing flutter with likely her pacing heart. “You are composed,” she notes of him. He grunts, raising his head with a question of what is keeping them. Tarth nods, edging around the corner. He follows, seeing the door, behind which is the little bird. He will get her out of there. Nothing will stop him.

At the door, he takes one side, Tarth the other. She knocks, yelling, “FBI, open up.” He hears some shuffling, and he clenches up at a slight squeal. _Sansa._ He looks to Tarth, her back to the wall, gun in hand aimed up. "Follow, when room is secured, get Sansa," she instructs.

Stepping back, Tarth pinches her mouth before she kicks the door ajar. Caught on the chain lock, she slams her body against the door to bang it open, her gun coming up level with her shoulders in a flash, tentatively entering the room. Sandor is right behind her alert, noticing the door to the adjoining room cracked. "Come out with your hands up," she yells. A man slinks out, holding up his hands, a gun in one of them. "Set down the weapon," she instructs in that serious, level tone she directed at him earlier. 

His attention turns from the man following Tarth's direction to see another sitting in front of the window, a gun by his hand resting casually on the table. A slight grin marks his face as though amused at the proceedings.

Sandor glances over on the bed to see Sansa there, her knees tucked up where she lies back on the pillows, the sheets as rumpled as her sheer slip of a dress. His hands clench at his side as he struggles against impulse. One hand raises toward her, palm up, and he bids her come, "Sansa," gentle but firm. He scowls deep to see her scared eyes turn to the seated man. So he's the uncle. He stares at the man now, too, about as Em described, little weasel of a man. Doesn't like what he sees. 

"Some reason why you're here, Agent Tarth?" The man moves his hand to a glass of water, sparking the room with tension as it hovered over the gun for a moment. "It is Tarth, right?"

"Are you saying this is a CIA investigation, Mr. Newman?" She throws at him defiant. 

"Peter?" Sansa calls uncertain, and her uncle's eyes cut menacingly to her, effectively quieting her.

"Under my department, yes. And you are tampering with it," he replies curt and takes a smooth sip, setting the glass back down by his gun. 

"You can't tell me a sixteen-year-old girl is an agent," Brienne throws at him harshly.

"What the hell?" Sandor yells. Other than Peter’s annoyed look he’s ignored.

"No, she was part of a delicate operation that failed. This is outside your bounds," he dismisses Tarth. 

"Oh, like how you threw her out on the streets to die," he sneers at the man. What kind of game is he playing? He was going to leave her to die at the hands of those bastards. 

"I'm here because I will not stand by as you endanger this child further," Tarth declares. 

Peter huffs, laughing. "Sansa, you may choose," he eyes the girl confidently. 

"Why did she call you Newman?" Sansa softly asks him, peering over from the bed.

His sure smile falls slightly, "Sansa, it doesn't matter. We'll go tomorrow."

Sansa stands up, the shortness of her slip now apparent, "I refuse to go back to him. I don't know why you cut me off and why you're really here now, so I don't want to go with you."

She moves toward Sandor, and he raises his arms. However, another man comes out of the adjoining room, gun out. Brienne grabs the door banging it on the gunman. Spurred on by the commotion, Sandor rushes for Sansa, feeling the sting of bullets as sharp pops go off. Peter took hold Sansa, pinning her arms, but he wrenches her free from him.

Shielding her, he backs them out of the now silent room, an acrid smell pervading it and steps over the bodies Tarth felled. Breathing heavily with a slight limp, he shuffles Sansa to the door, checking the hallway. "Sandor," Sansa gasps, worried between pants, looking wide-eyed over his body. Looks like he took a couple bullets, damn blood is pouring out of him. 

Tarth keeps her gun trained on Peter as he glares at all of them. She walks forward, pulling loose another set of handcuffs. "You got nothing on me, Tarth," Peter spews.

She reaches for one of his arms and twists it around his back, snapping a cuff over it. “You are under arrest for attempted kidnapping and identity fraud,” she clearly states as she restrains his other arm, starting to lead him out.

Sansa is patting him down till she finds his phone, pulling it out and calling 911 for an ambulance. She moves up under his arm, giving him whatever support she can as the adrenaline wears off. The pain intensifies as he takes his first step, and he grimaces, leaning on Sansa as he drags his left leg. 

She takes him to the elevator. He turns back to see Tarth behind him, pushing along Peter, if that's even his name. Good to see him pay. 

He struggles into the elevator when it arrives. Looking down at Sansa's concerned face, he smirks slighting, messing her hair. "You okay?" He mouths to her, and she nods, her eyes brightening as she smiles up at him.

 Back in the lobby, he stumbles as she tries to support him out of the elevator. The first responders are there though, and they start to rip his clothes and stop the bleeding. He winces, and his eyes start rolling around, seeing stars.  

"Sandor, stay with me." He hears her sweet voice and tries to focus on her face over him. He reaches up and pulls heavily on a strand of copper hanging over him. She smiles despite the yank of it. 

"Sansa," he mumbles as she moves away and they heft him onto a gurney. He's reaching for her.

Once they have him in the ambulance, he sees a swath a red and feels a grip on his hand. His vision is blurring, but still he hears her frantic, "Sandor, Sandor," before succumbing to the black.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disturbing revelations from Sansa in this chapter.

Emily and Sansa have barely left Sandor's side, staying in the hospital to see him make it through the night. Emily even led her in prayers, joking that Sandor would scoff at them since he thought it was all horseshit. It felt good in a way, something she gave up after losing her family. Still, the way she saw it she was betrayed by God, and she didn't trust Him not to take Sandor from her after He's taken so many before. Father. Mother. Robb. Bran. Rickon. She doesn't even know where Arya or Jon is. 

He had made it through. Still, It was sobering to see him covered in tubes. They knew he was awake that morning when his arm came up to yank one of the tubes off him. "San" and "Sandor," they'd both cried out, trying to steady him and see how he was. The nurse finally took some of the tubes away so he could talk.

He'd reached out to them both before saying in an even harsher rasp than his normal deep voice, "Jacks?"

"He's with Rita," Emily is quick to reassure him. He starts trying to sit up, and the pain is clear in his face as they try to stop the man. 

"I'll go see about some breakfast," Emily looks to both of them with a smile before heading out.

Sandor and her look at each other in silence, his hand cradling hers softly. She feels guilt and shame come over her for last night. "I'm sorry," she looks down, feeling him squeeze her hand tenderly at her words. She didn't think everything would end the way it did yesterday, not after seeing Peter's smiling face after so long. 

Her thoughts are disrupted with a knock on the door. She goes to it, wondering at Emily's efficiency only to open it and tense at Agent Tarth's appearance. Her mouth is set in a grim line, her blue eyes, so soft before now hard as she surveys the room. 

"Is he awake?" She says to her.

"Just now," she replies, looking to Sandor.

"May I speak with you in front of him?" She asks. Sansa nods, giving space for Brienne to enter. As Sansa closes the door, Brienne walks over to Sandor in her long, strides, greeting him, "Clegane, doing alright?" 

"Bout can be expected," he gets out. 

"I have bad news," she tells them, looking over to Sansa in the seat she reclaimed. "Peter, as you know him, was released this morning. Not on my authority." 

"What the fuck? How?" is Sandor's response, trying to rise up again but halting in pain. She isn't surprised, but this question of his name confounds her, much as it made her doubt last night. A part of her wants to strike out at Brienne, that Peter would've told her if he had another name, that agent or no, she's stupid. Another voice in her head, one deep and raspy and much like Sandor's, points out Peter didn't deny the other name, didn't even really tell her she was part of a CIA operation. It opens up a wound inside her she's quick to cover with denial again.

"His name is Peter Baelish. It was foolish of you to try," she says, not holding her tongue anymore. Sandor turns to gape at her from the hospital bed.

"How long have you known him?" Brienne asks, a strange lightness returning to her eyes as though she's on the trail.

"My mother has always known him," she says instead and sees a flicker of uncertainty pass through Brienne's eyes. 

"He's been serving the CIA in some capacity as Marcus Newman for eight years, even if that's not who he really is," Brienne says matter-of-fact. "I do not have his official titles, but I understand he was promoted to have his own arm of operations around the time of Joffrey's death. I only know of him because he closed the case, which I was working on with many unanswered questions. A man named Dontos Hollard was implicated as well as yourself. But you were nowhere to be found, and Dontos was killed in jail." Sansa pales at her account, a tremble in her hands. She remembers Dontos. He had given her a necklace for her fourteenth birthday and pressured her with kisses that reeked of alcohol. She dare not mention the necklace now.

When Sansa doesn't say anything, Brienne adds, "So what a coincidence the man is Peter Baelish, your uncle, when from what I understand he's not supposed to be a covert agent."

"He's Peter," she says, "I'm sure he can explain." 

"Sansa," Sandor says her name, getting her attention. "Agent Tarth is probably right. You can't even know for sure he's Peter." Sansa glares at him in turn. 

"Would you tell us a little about your relationship with Peter?" Brienne asks, changing the subject slightly.

She takes a deep breath, "I traveled with him, mostly staying at an apartment in D.C. as his daughter, Alayne. I'd lost everyone. Betrayed by everyone when he took me under his wing," she smiles to remember those early days when Peter would hold her against him, telling her not to cry as he stroked her hair. Why couldn't it have always been like that?

Brienne purses her lips, unsatisfied but asks next, "How did the Bolton's get involved?"

She looks to Sandor who is listening, confused but not intruding thankfully. Taking courage from him, she admits, "It was to be revenge. They murdered my mother and eldest brother. They didn't know me though since I was a little girl when I last met the father. I went there with Peter to seal the engagement he had arranged with funds to make some deal. I remember I wasn't allowed to call him Peter in front of anyone there," she scrunches her brow remembering this detail with a glance to Brienne, focused on her.  She'd never questioned Peter about it, so in love with him she thought she was. "But no one ever called him Newman. He left me there after a few days in good faith. I soon learned the true nature of my fiance," she says sarcastically, looking at both of them.

"Meaning?" Sandor spoke before Brienne could.

She takes a breath, looking at her hands in her lap."I was to be married in six months, but as soon as Peter left, he kept me locked in my room. Only coming to," she pauses, having blocked out what he would do. She says instead, rambling without forethought, "Peter had taught me what to do, but he was different. Worse than Joffrey."

"Wait," Sandor says, his voice stronger. She's having a hard time breathing, looking frantically at Brienne. She rummages for a paper bag, having Sansa breath into till she normalizes. Emily bursts through the door with bags from the store, halting abruptly at the scene before.

"Leave some, and give us time please, Em," Sandor tells her.

"Okay," she places some pastry on the bed for Sandor and drops some by her. She's breathing normally now, but Em still asks if she's okay. 

"I'll be fine," she tries to smile at her.

"I'll just read my book in the hall. Get me if anything changes," she winks and goes over to kiss Sandor on the forehead before leaving.

Sandor wastes no time when Emily closes the door, "What do you mean he taught you? Who's Joffrey?" 

"Sandor, don't overwhelm her," Brienne says in a scathing tone to Sandor, glaring. She looks to her with a sigh, her arms bent on her knees in her direction. She asks, "Can you tell us what was it Bolton did? Is this Ramsay?"

Sansa tenses at his name and shakes her head no. 

"Sansa, I need to know, so we can make you safe from him," she urges her.  Sansa laughs sarcastically, not believing her. Peter could have made her safe, but she had a weird feeling he wasn't going to take her home. "Please Sansa, we can tie him to the men who tried to kidnap you, but I need to know the whole story," Brienne smiles warmly at her, trying not to seem desperate.

"He would fuck me, okay?" She says with an edge, making herself rigid and still, not letting those dark days affect her.

"Rape?" Brienne asks to clarify, somehow disarming in her tone. 

She can hear Sandor's shaky breaths from her chair, and she dare not look at him. "Sansa," his rasp, full of anguish, goes through her like a tremor, and she stupidly glances to see his arm stretched out to her. His eyes, like a sad puppy dog that's been kicked, make the tears well up in her own. He had probably assumed before, but hearing her say it seems to have undone him. 

She gets up to wrap her arm around his but looks toward Brienne. She finds malice in her voice as she answers, "Yes," picturing Ramsay with a bullet through him like the men she killed. 

"Thank you, Sansa. But I wonder, why did you have to marry him?" Brienne asks.

She sighs, "I was a package deal - underage girl with a trust fund, which would become his when we married. Peter was going to write it over to him. I was supposed to be the bait of sorts."

"For?" Brienne pushes. Sandor squeezes her hand, asking, "How did you escape?"

"I don't know the details, Brienne. I think they're traffickers." She turns to Sandor but not looking directly at him as she answers his question, her hand gripping his harder. "I knew Peter or his associates would come for me, but after weeks I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't think anything would be left of me after six months. I broke a chair leg and knocked him out when he came for me one evening. Peter did have me trained in basic combat and arms, but Ramsay didn't know that. He didn't see it coming. It gave me about an hour to sneak out of the compound before I had to trek through the swamp. I headed east, hoping I'd come upon the interstate. Luckily, Sandor was there." She looks down at him now as their hands are in a tight grip. 

Sandor clears his throat, and tells Brienne, "There's two in Scranton tried to take her and shot up a diner. Not sure what became of them."

"I'll look into it," Brienne says. "And I'll need you, Sandor, to point out on a map where you found her."

"Okay," he answers. 

Brienne takes a deep breath, "I think that's enough for today, let's keep focusing on the Bolton case first.

"Okay," she nods to Brienne who gives them both a tight grin before leaving. 

Sansa looks at Sandor on the bed, and she can see he still has many questions. She looks down, drawing spirals on his forearm, the size of both of hers together. 

"Why did you kiss him?" He asks straightforward, but the tension in the room is taut and heavy. That's the question he chooses out of so many. She lets go of him and returns to her chair. Taking a muffin, she gingerly unwraps it before taking a bite.

There's no use denying it. "I loved him."

"He had you kiss him on the mouth as his niece?" Sandor says, looking incredulous and confused, not wanting to believe the kind of love she means. How does she explain to him what was between them? He'll never understand.

She tells him, "We had a relationship. He broke my heart when he cut me off. For a moment when I saw him smiling at me outside the school, I forgot everything with Florida and just wanted things to be back like they were." Sandor gapes at her for the second time today, and she pulls her sleeves down over her hands, sighing. "I know you won't understand."

"Sansa, when did it start? What was this teaching?" He asks next. 

"Why even talk about it when you don't trust me?" She raises her voice, defensive.

He looks confused at that, but then his eyes narrow when he says, "Talk to me. What were you doing in a hotel room alone with him?"

She feels her embarrassment redden her, giving her away, and the dirty feeling she had after is seeping through her again. The images flash through her mind, the chemise he had her change into, sitting on his lap drinking champagne to celebrate being back together. As always, he wanted to pretend it was the first time again. It was the same charade but felt different, felt wrong. Sandor wouldn't have wanted her doing that, and she kept seeing him, his dark eyes boring into her as she lay there in the bed.

A choked cry escapes her as she bends over her legs in the chair, "You wouldn't have wanted me to do it," is all the answer she can muster.

His voice is softened when he says to her, "Little bird, it's not your fault. He's set you up to take advantage of you." She shakes her head, not able to believe it. It hurts too much.

A tentative knock on the door pulls her out of her thoughts, and she slips back into her normal skin. Going to the door, she opens it to Emily and a doctor. 

She sits brooding as the doctor goes over the surgery and what to expect with recovery. She's surprised to hear they'll release him that afternoon if his scan checks out. Another day or so, and they can hopefully be back in the house.

After getting Sandor home and getting bored at his Alaska TV shows, she texts Dylan, and he comes by with Mirtha in her car to pick her up. 

"Going to hang out with my friends for a bit," she tells Sandor who finds her hand with a firm grip. They exchange meaningful looks, and she smiles. "I'm glad you're okay. I promise not to get into any trouble."

"Come here," he pulls her slightly, so she bends to wrap her arms around his neck, her hair falling on him in her embrace.

When she pulls up, he seems upset, "Don't run off like that again, especially not with your uncle. Be back in two hours, or I'll get back on that bike and haul you back here." 

"Okay," she rolls her eyes and pulls her little skirt back down. "Dad," she adds sarcastically. 

"I'm not your dad, I'm your guardian. Don't forget it," he eyes her in all seriousness. "Take a gun since you know how to use it," he smirks with pride directed at her. Somehow this bit of praise makes all the heaviness from the day fall off her, and she smiles fully back at him. That's right, she can defend herself. 

Heading out to the car, Dylan looks at her oddly, even Mirtha, so she realizes they must know. "How'd you find out?" She asks as Mirtha pulls away from Emily's friend's place.

"You really shot two people?" Dylan blurts out. 

"It was on the news," Mirtha says, answering her.

"Self-defense," she shrugs.

"Wonder why someone would go out there to rob a house," Mirtha shrewdly points out. "And just a month after you moved there."

"You can't know this, but they were after me, it was a kidnapping," she tells them, wondering why it was reported differently. Maybe the police thought they were burglars at first. 

Dylan turns to her, jaw slack before saying, "No way!" 

Mirtha snorts at him, then voices, "If that's the case, then we could be in danger now."

"Don't worry, I wouldn't leave the house without a gun," she raises her brow with a smirk.

Dylan's eyes are even wider, "Fuck."

She laughs, then lets them know, "I have to be back by nine."

Mirtha takes them to one of her coffeeshop haunts to listen to music from an adorable girl with big brown eyes. She laughs to see how rapt Dylan is at her angelic voice and face. At least he's not too stuck on her. Teenage boys are a waste. It's men for her.

A heaviness presses on her chest at the hought, remembering earlier, how both of them implied all her relationships were wrong. Even Peter. She could see it on Brienne's face, even if Sandor was more vocal. She lifts her head, willing herself to take it all in stride. She's a whore, that's what she is, not a victim.

She remembers Sandor yelling, "she's sixteen," at those boys on the beach, explaining to her later how she can't lawfully consent to sex with people over eighteen as though she doesn't know. It's dumb, she told him, she'd decided that long ago. But the memory of Peter's games, of her mother's name on his lips, pulls at her inside. She survived Joffrey, she'll survive Ramsay if she has to put a bullet in him herself. But if Peter is wrong, it might truly break her. His playful grin and intense green eyes appear in her mind's eye, and she doesn't know what to think. Does she still love him? 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Laid up at home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor's point-of-view on Sansa's revelations last chapter, and some new discussions so read carefully, some details may be disturbing. It's not all bad though :) Sorry if I offended any of you with my lack of proper warning last chapter!

Sandor winces as he sits up further in his bed and props open a book of all things. He'd rather be out hunting, but this healing's taking too long. He couldn't hold a rifle let alone climb into a stand, but at least he's back under his own roof. Still, he'd even much rather be at work. They'll have a great impression of him now, starting on sick leave. Yeah, they'll kick him back doing long hauls soon enough. 

Being laid up for days hasn't been kind to his mind. The books have helped and other distractions, but his thoughts go back to the girl, tearing him apart again over what has happened to her. He doesn't know about this Joffrey they talk about yet, but what he does know about that fucking piece of shit uncle and how he left her at the mercy of that bastard Ramsay. He feels the familiar rage heat through him. He was so close, he should've ended him, damn Tarth and the FBI. 

The trouble is she doesn't want to face the truth about him. He can't blame her, it's a deeper betrayal than anything he's heard of. But she needs to. She needs to be shaken out of whatever idea she has that it's okay, even wanted to be taken advantage of by men. He knows she's more than willing to run into his arms, and he hates himself for being weak at times with her. Damn him for wanting her so much that she'll even show up in his dreams. He fears if he pushes her away too much she'll find a man more than willing to use her warped attitude to his advantage. And that he will not allow. He sees it for what it is though.

Out of his brooding thoughts, though focusing on killing Osama bin Laden in this book would’ve been better, he hears her come through the door and say cheerfully, "I brought another one for you." Wouldn’t know she killed two bastards in here, smell of fresh paint covers anything else lingering. 

Going to the other side of the bed, she pulls her replacement Glock from her back as if it's the most natural thing for a teenage girl to carry and plops down, stretching out her legs. He can't help but take in how adorable she is, he allows himself that. 

"Saw your therapist?" He asks her. Tarth had seen to setting something up. 

She answers with a strained, "Yes," in her typical attitude while looking at her hair and toying with it. Then she looks over at him with a frown, "She's a bit dim to me, asking obvious questions and shit."

"Like what?" He asks. She shakes her head, pulling her own book out. She'll come up here and read or watch shows with him, since it's hard for him to get around. "You know you can tell me anything," he holds a hand out towards her. 

"I know," she takes it for a moment before opening up her book. She says flippant, "Oh, I went and signed my statement for Brienne. She's working on the warrant."

"Good," he says, relieved she finally did it and amused with the way she acts like it's no big deal. Tarth had met with her to straighten out details of her testimony, but Sansa had been hesitant to sign it. He's been trying to convince her for days.

"It will make him mad. He'll try to kill me," she looks over at him. He opens his mouth to respond, but she continues first, "I asked Brienne how she's going to do it, and she's planning to go after his Florida compound."

"What'd you tell her?" He asks.

"Good luck," she says with a cynicism twice her age. 

"I'm not going anywhere for a while," he tries to reassure her.

"I just feel like I'm putting Emily and Jacks at risk," she voices a guilt he feels, too.

"That's why we have the alarm system, and I have everything set up in case there's an attack. I've told Em what to do."

"If he takes one of them," Sansa says grim, shaking her head in horror. 

"He'll be locked up soon by Brienne," he rubs her back.

"But Roose, his father, will kill me before it goes to trial," Sansa looks up at him. This is the first time he's heard the name. "And he doesn't make mistakes. The monsters always win."

"Little bird, you have to plan for the worst scenario not give in to fear," he tells her. She nods, lost to him. "Are you talking about what happened with Ramsay in therapy? About your uncle?"

"No," she says and that makes him frown. 

"Would you talk about it with her? For me at least?" He tries to persuade her. He was hoping therapy would address it, but this is only her first time after all.

She eyes him, not quite a glare. Her phone buzzes though, and she leaves the conversation there. He turns back to his book as she scrolls through her phone typing something out. 

"Ugh, being poor sucks," she whines, tossing her phone down. 

"How are you out of money?" He says and how spoilt she can be bothers him. "You need to learn to manage it or no matter how much you have it will fall from your hands."

She purses her lips in her teenage defiance. "I called Luther, but Peter hasn't sent any new funds from my trust, and I haven't got my paycheck from the salon yet," she explains.

"What?!" He can't hold back his alarm. "You contacted that fucking uncle!" 

"What am I supposed to do?" She shrinks back from him. He clenches his teeth at the pain from stretching across to grab her arm before she slips away.

"We're calling Tarth," he says harshly. 

"I have to go meet Dylan," she yells at him. 

"It can wait, birdie," he tells her, grabbing his phone and dialing Tarth. 

"Can't you call her Brienne like everyone else?" She says in a sneer.

"Like I fucking give a shit," he says, his anger right at the surface. 

He puts the phone on speaker as Tarth's "Hello," is heard.

"Clegane and Sansa here," he tells her. "Sansa just told me she tried to get in contact with her uncle over her trust. Can you do something about this?"

"It's not a big deal," Sansa's petulant voice argues.

"Thanks for calling, Clegane," Brienne responds, pausing to think. "We need to get the trust out of his hands. She'll need a lawyer to prove change of guardian among other things." How's he going to afford that?

"I doubt that uncle will part with her trust easily," he says, scowling.

Brienne sighs, "He could sue to have her returned to his custody. And then there's the matter of her siblings."

"What?" He reacts, looking over at Sansa who’s frozen and blank.

"Sansa?" Brienne calls out to the little bird.

Recovering, she seethes, "Why does this matter?" 

"Brienne, just tell me," he says to Tarth, closing his eyes in frustration.

"Her siblings’ trusts are entrusted to Peter Baelish as well after their aunt died. Although I'm sorry, Sansa, about the deaths of your brothers as I believe the money is now mostly split between Sansa and her sister," Brienne tells him. "I have stepped up efforts to find your sister, Sansa," Brienne says next, tenderness in her tone. "I know of a good lawyer who'd probably take the case pro bono," she adds.

"It doesn't matter," Sansa snaps. 

"We'll think about it," he tells Brienne. 

"Okay. Looks like I'll be headed to Florida next week. I'm organizing with local forces there," she lets them know before they say their goodbyes.

"Can I go now?" Sansa asks, snippy, but he's not annoyed, no, he's only worried for her. 

"Okay, but don't be mad at me, come here," he tells her. She comes around the bed, sitting at the edge to give him a hug. She buries her head in his chest, and he rubs her back. He says softly, "Be careful, don't be gone too long. I'm sorry, okay?"

She nods into him, and he hears a sniffle before she pulls back, looking at him with her sweet, vulnerable eyes. "You're strong, you're going to be okay," he tells her with his hands resting on her shoulders. She nods a few times, her delicate hands coming up to smooth away any tears on her cheek. 

"Here," he hands her a twenty from his wallet, "don't spend it all in one place." 

She smiles, amused, taking the bill. She then gets up and heads out, leaving him to contemplate this new information. She has a sister? How many siblings are we talking about? How much money?

He starts getting into the book again when Emily comes in. "Do you think you can make it down to dinner?"

"Yeah," he responds, be good to move around some. The steps are hard but he makes it down, that bullet to his left leg was brutal. Amazing he didn't bleed completely out.

"How's school, Jacks?" He says to his nephew.

"Okay," the boy answers as Sandor eases into his chair.

"Tell Uncle San about the science project," Emily says, setting food on the table. 

"We turned a potato into a battery. It was sorta cool," he shrugs. "Can I have coke please?"

"I told you no," Em says. 

"Come on, Em," he smirks at her. She gives him a look to kill. She opens her mouth to speak but thinks better of it.

"Yay, please," Jacks asks next. 

"Fine, get it yourself," she says to her son.

"Fix me one," Sandor tells Jacks.

She says quietly to him but with plenty of bite while Jacks is in the kitchen, "I know we're happy you will be around more now, but don't for another moment start pulling this shit. You're on my team, don't support his defiance or heaven help us when he gets Sansa's age. He's a sweet boy but don't think he can't turn willful."

"I don't want him turning out soft," he tells her.

Her eyes widen in anger, "I don't want him having my life either. He's smart. He'll go far." Jacks comes back in, carrying the two largest glasses they have filled to the brim. He laughs and thanks the boy. Now that he's here for a bit, he can spend more time with him. He's taken him on a couple hunts, but he hasn't taken to it, not showing any interest to learn. Maybe he'll like fixing up engines. A man’s got to have his projects.

After eating, Jacks goes in the den, and Em grabs a beer for both of 'em. "Ya gonna tell me what the hell's going on with her?" She asks.

He sighs, his elbows on the table as he runs his hands through his hair. "That uncle has her all screwed up, thinking the abuse was a relationship with him. The fucker after her, who shot up the house, is someone the uncle was going to marry her to, but she ran away and ended up in my truck. Brienne is arresting him next week." He takes a long swig of his beer. "The uncle could sue for custody if he wants, hopefully Sansa would testify to the abuse, but he's some CIA director under a different name." 

The puzzled expression on her face, nearly makes him laugh. "I know." He says, taking another drink, "We currently house his weakest link. Not my best decision, but hell if I'm going to send her away now."

"Wow, she really should write a book," Em smirks, still processing. Taking him by surprise, she asks, "She's been raped then?" And all he can do is nod to affirm her understanding. 

"I can understand her not wanting to call it that, and damn, to have the police involved. I'd want to hide away if I was her," Em says honestly.

He looks at her strangely. "What?" She laughs, "A lot of things happened while I was out in the woods with Jimmy." His hands ball up at the name of that asshole. "He wasn't always around, and there wasn't always a yes but not a no either."

"Em," he reaches out to her, and she grips him back. God, he hates the Navy for taking him away, but they were desperate enough. He thought it would be good for them.

"Do you think she..." he starts, not sure how to word his thoughts.

Em understands though, patting his arm, "I'll try to help her. Jacks saved me from that hole, but we'll do what we can for her. She has to choose to accept and heal and move on. Hopefully she'll stay away from drugs."

"Yeah," he huffs a laugh, getting up for another beer. 

"You okay though?" She follows him into the kitchen. "I saw you didn't bring any pain pills home."

"I'm fine. I just can't do that anymore," he tells her, and he hates the shame at the admission, his weakness. Other than a certain shade of red hair evidently. 

"Good," she smiles at him, rubbing his back. "Let me help you back upstairs."

Once he's situated, she brings up, "We need a new sleeping arrangement. I want Jacks back in his room. I was thinking…"

He interrupts her, "You and Sansa can share my room since it's bigger, plus it's got this king bed."

"Alright, I guess I can get over the fact she killed two people in here," she smiles, "And at least we won't have to try to fit all our clothes into my room."

She heads down to watch a movie with Jacks. He takes his antibiotics and pulls out the laptop. He'd fallen asleep when the little bird comes in to say goodnight and puts the computer away for him.

"Why home so late?" He mumbles. 

"It's only nine," she laughs at him before giving him a peck on the cheek and walking out to her room. Damn girl, kissing him.

He's woken later that night by something cool against his skin. He jerks up grabbing at whoever has entered in the dark, then cries out in pain from the action. 

"Shhh," he hears her voice and knows it's Sansa. What the hell is she doing?

He reaches past her for the lamp despite the pain and sees her through his squinting eyes. She's in nothing but a t-shirt and panties getting into his bed, biting her lip now that she's been found. 

"What are you doing?" He says, harsh, pulling the sheet over her legs, but to her, that's an invitation. 

"I had a nightmare," she tells him, moving towards him.

He huffs, saying, "No, Sansa, you can't get in my bed."

"But I was so scared, they'd taken me again, and it was so real this time that I had to see you."

"Here I am. Go back to your bed," he tells her, keeping his distance. It would be so easy to hold her, press her to him, but then he'd kiss her, and then he'd want more.

"Please, just this once," she looks at him with her big, innocent blue eyes, glimmering in the lamplight. His eyes fall to the swell of her breasts against the tight shirt, and he sucks in a breath and closes his eyes.

"Sansa, we're getting up," and he pulls off the covers and scoots off the other side of the bed. He pulls on a shirt and pants, grimacing at his tender wounds. 

"Come on," he motions to her, still in his bed. 

She gets up, and he rummages around trying to find a pair of her pants left in his room from her staying in there. She finds some faster and is now luckily cooperating, slipping them on. The picture of her climbing into his bed like that is going to haunt him. He doesn’t want to be her uncle.

She follows him downstairs, and he sets about making some coffee. 

"Sorry about the dream, little bird," he tells her as he hands her a cup. Peeking at him with a smile, she's quick to the fridge to add cream and then putting a spoonful of sugar in her cup, swirling it all. 

They sit down in the den, the cool quiet of deep night surrounding them. He's got his arms spread out on the couch, his leg up on the coffee table. Her legs are tucked up under her, the cup in both her hands like it could warm her whole body.

"I told you my brother did this to me, didn't I?" He points to his face. She shakes her head, eyes wide in disbelief. "Yeah, he's older. That's part of why we ended up in foster care. My dad tried to cover it up, but I didn't lie about what he did. Hard to cover up burns like this on a child." There's bitterness, but something about the dark of night blunts it in his voice. 

"When I was sixteen, Em thirteen, he came for a visit. I didn't like the way he looked at my sister. I knew he wanted her. Fucking bastard. His own sister! We left that night." He's not sure why he's telling her but he is.

"It was rough, on the streets, just me and her, till I joined the navy on my eighteenth birthday, hoping it would be easier for us. When I was gone, she was fine at first, got back in school, but later she met a guy and you know that story. You can talk to her, ya know. She knows things I don't." Realization of what he's getting at dawns on her, he can see it when her eyes relax. 

"You can't talk about it with me, only some woman can," she says with a huff. 

"I want you to at least talk about it. It's hard for me to stomach what they did to you. I can't. It makes me want to kill them all. Also who was Joffrey?" He asks her.

She's stunned at first but answers, "My first boyfriend. He wasn't good to me."

"Well, I'll kill him, too, if he gets too close," he feels the anger quicken in him.

"Joffrey didn't fuck me, he'd only have me beaten. He's already dead, too, kinda by me," she clarifies for some reason, looking up at him after with those too blue eyes, so unsure, pulling at something inside him.

"Beaten! Like that's not as bad. It's all bad, birdie," he pulls her to him, not in lust, wanting to hold her together if he can, fix everything.  She seems confused but huddles against him, draping her legs over his. He strokes her hair, wondering how anyone could beat something so beautiful as her, so precious. "What do you mean kinda?" he asks. 

She sighs, "I was carrying the poison but didn't know it. Peter used me. That's what Brienne wants with me, wants me to testify against Peter. He's going to say it was my idea, as revenge. I don't exactly want Joff breathing again, but still, I could go to prison if Brienne exposes me and doesn't succeed."

"Holy shit," he breathes out, shocked, squeezing her tighter. "He's one slippery fucking bastard."

"I almost went with him, but I was worried he was lying and would take me back to the Bolton's. Especially when Brienne called him Newman," she admits still huddled against him.

"You're not safe with him," he grips her shoulder. "I'll take care of you, okay, little bird?"

"I know, Sandor, I just don't want you to die," she tells him, and he sets her back on the couch. She was nearly in his lap.

"I hope not, too," he smirks at her. His finger toys with her sleeve till he stops himself. She gives him a knowing look, reaching for his hand he removed to hold in her own.

"Sansa," he starts, but she abruptly says, "I know," sounding so down.

"I tell you what. Your eighteenth birthday," he starts saying. That got her attention as her eyes snap up to his brightly. "If you want, I'll take you on a date. No matter what, I promise. Unless you change your mind."

"Really?!" She sits up, grabbing both his hands in hers. "I could kiss you!" She gushes, and he can see her eying his lips. Everything inside him is yelling yes and no at the same time, but he resists. 

"If it goes well, you might get one," the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. 

"Oh, Sandor," she smiles so big it hurts him to see. She twirls in his arms, cozying her back to him and hugging his arms around her. It feels too fucking good.

He holds her for awhile, savoring it before he starts to pull away, but she's not having it. "Need to get whatever sleep is left," he tells her.

"Can't we stay up and watch the sun rise? It's not much longer, and I'm so happy," she squirms with delight in his arms. 

"Fine, but you'll see it from the back of my bike, little bird," he kisses the top of her head and picks them both up before he remembers his injury right there to remind him with sharp pain. Might not be a good idea to try and ride a motorcycle right now but fuck it.

"I'm sorry," she tells him, but he waves it off, hurrying her to get ready for their early morning ride.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV

"512 days," she laughs, smiling at Sandor in the kitchen as she gets breakfast before school. He smirks at her and squeezes her into his side for a moment. It is a really long time though, it seems like forever until the date he promised her. She can't help but worry he'll see other women, maybe even get into a relationship in that span of time. She already hates this imaginary girl. "What's that about?" Emily calls out from the kitchen table. 

Sandor eyes her before answering his sister, "I told Sansa I'd take her on a date for her eighteenth birthday."

"You promised," she whispers to him.

"Oh," Emily replies, and she can see her pursed lips from here. Guess she's not happy about it. Still, Sansa says bye to all of them and heads off on her scooter.

At school she finds Dylan in the library. "Are you working on the English paper?" She asks.

"No, this is American history unfortunately. Though I'm not looking forward to that paper either."

She looks skeptical, "It's due tomorrow."

"I know," he looks up with a smirk. "That's what tonight's for. Don't tell me you finished it already."

"I haven't decided if I'm going to do it or not," she lies. She only has to finish up the reference section tonight. English class isn’t so bad.

"What's going on with your case or whatever?" He asks, his eyebrow quirked with interest.

"I think the FBI agent is down in Florida. I'm not sure when she'll make the call for the arrest. Maybe today," she shrugs, though she's really trying to ignore the raw feeling inside, gnawing at her that something's going to go wrong. What if she goes back to Sandor's house to find everyone dead and Ramsay waiting for her?

"I think I might go home," she says, an idea forming. 

Dylan gives her a joking pout at this, but she's already getting up. 

As she arrives back in the drive, she goes straight to the garage, starting to pull out the guns she needs. She's not going to stand by again while everything crumbles around her. 

"What do you think you're doing?" She hears Sandor's rough voice and turns to see him coming into the garage.

"What does it look like?" She pushes back, focusing back on the task at hand.

He snorts, "Just heard from Tarth. They're going in there today." Dammit, her breath hitches. 

"I need to get down there," she says.

He laughs, the asshole. "How?" is all he says. She looks towards her scooter, but that makes him laugh more. "You'd barely make it to the state line, let alone south Florida," he says unkindly.

"I've got to kill him," she says with venom.

That stops his laughter, and he sizes her up with his eyes. "You can't murder him. Tarth would put you away."

"She needs my testimony too much," she argues, maybe overestimating that.

Sandor scowls at her. "You're staying here. I won't have you gallivanting around the South with my guns on an old scooter." 

She moves to protest, but he's already pulling at the shotgun strap, taking it off her back. "I'm antsy, too," he says more soothing, "It'll settle once we get news from Tarth."

They head back into the living room. Sandor's been getting around a lot better the past couple days and gets into his chair with ease. She goes to the kitchen for coffee for both of them. While he watches TV, she works on finishing up her English paper. Emily comes back at lunch with tacos for all of them. It's over the table as they're digging into the food that Sandor gets the call.

"Better take this, it's Brienne," he says before answering the phone. As he listens, his expression changes to one of unease, heightening her nerves. He says to Brienne, "Tell her yourself," before handing the phone to her.

"Brienne?" She can't hold back the alarm in her voice.

"Sansa, he's not here, I'm sorry," she tells her. Sansa's breath becomes shallow as she tries to stay calm. "Someone must've tipped him off," Brienne continues, "Because we found the compound abandoned with signs of attempted arson. The rain must've staved it off. A forensic search will be made for evidence, and we'll get back on the trail soon." Brienne is trying to reassure her, but alarm bells are going off for her. He's not in Florida. 

"Brienne, this is bad," she says. She looks wide-eyed to Sandor who's telling Emily the news. "What if he's here?" She starts to tremble. 

"I'll call my boss and have him head there in case, alright?" Brienne suggests. "I've got to stay here for now for any leads. He may have fled the country."

"Okay," she says, unsure.

"Now, Sansa, I don't want you to be alarmed, but my boss," Brienne pauses, "He's Jaime Lannister."

"What?" Sansa raises her voice, hell yes she's alarmed as fuck. "You lied to me, you said you were FBI." 

Sandor looks at her with shock, "What's going on?"

"He is the director for my branch," she says. Then growing insistent, Brienne tells her, "Sansa, listen. He's apologetic for the harm your family was done by his own and supports my case to find who's really behind Joffrey's death. He wants to help you." Sansa is shocked she doesn't know what to believe, who to trust.

"Give me the phone," Sandor grabs it from her limp hold on it and barks into it, "What the fuck is going on?" 

She looks over at a concerned Emily while Sandor grunts his responses to Brienne before ending the call.

She blurts out, "Jacks needs to be safe." Sandor and Emily share a look.

"We can stay at Rita's," Emily suggests. 

Sandor nods, "You stay there with Jacks. I'll give you a gun in case."

Emily says, "Okay," and gets up to make a call and prepare. 

"You really think they'll come back here?" Sandor looks at her with uncertainty and a bit of fear in his eyes. 

"Where else?" Sansa says, feeling resigned to her fate. "We need to get ready."

"Sansa, I told Brienne this Jaime Lannister could come here." Sandor says to her, and she glares at him.

"Are you going to tell me what you have against him?" Sandor asks her.

She sighs, "He's a Lannister. They killed my family. Cersei, his sister, likely wants me dead for killing Joffrey and that's mostly why my uncle hid me away. I won't trust a Lannister."

"Oh," he looks at her oddly. "Brienne swears by him."

"Never really trusted Brienne, now I know why," she frowns.

"That's news to me," he says. "You playing me, too, little bird?" He smirks. She could melt right there under the playful glint in his eye.

"Never," she tells him a little breathy, hoping it's the truth. His eyes darken for a second before he stands, motioning for her to follow him out to the garage. They load several handguns, then Sandor grabs his shotgun. 

"Could I have a rifle? If we're going to stay up on the second floor," she asks.   
He thinks about, then nods and says, "If there's trouble, you're to get in that closet, birdie."

She smiles up at her big man but has to disagree with him, "No, I'll be at your side." She aims the rifle she just loaded, checking it out. He chuckles at her but at least he doesn't argue. He straps on a new bulletproof vest and hands Sansa hers.

"I didn't know you got me this," she says, her eyes lighting up.

"Was hoping you wouldn't need it," he says truthfully. He grabs an ammo box, a second rifle and heads back in to the house. They set up camp in what used to be Sandor's room

"What if they try to burn the house?" She asks as they organize their gear.

She can tell it unsettles him as he breathes out heavily. "That would be bad," he says. "First thing, we signal the police when we know they've arrived. If they try to burn us out, we'll stay till we have no choice, then slide out this window on a rope." He goes to pull some rope out of his closet. "We'll get shot up, but we'll have to do it fast." She nods, hoping it doesn't come to that.

They settle in for the long night, getting up periodically to check the window. Sandor keeps the volume on the laptop barely audible so it doesn't drown out any approach. They watch the latest from a mock news channel, laughing at the host’s quips about the election only another month away. If Dany Targaryan doesn't win she'd be surprised. Especially against the stalwart Stannis Baratheon who bores everyone.

 "Dany has my vote," she tells him.

He snorts and says, "You don't have one at least. Forget you were sixteen?"

She side-eyes him, "Please tell me you're not for Stannis." The corner of his mouth quirks with humor and that's all the answer she needs. "No, that's awful!" She exclaims, hitting him with a pillow that only makes it to his blocking hand. "How can you support that party? They're crazy."

"I'm pro-gun, pro-military, sweetheart," he laughs. How could she not have seen this? She knows her dad would probably vote for Stannis, but hell take her if she would. "Rethinking the date, birdie?" He grins at her and despite his scars his mirth is still infectious. 

"No," she attempts to hit him with the pillow again. He takes it from her this time, and then flips around in the sheet to where she's stuck.

"Sandor!" She whines.

"Promise no more pillow hitting," he tells her, clearly more amused at her predicament than concerned about pillow damage.

"Fine," she says as he laughs and then helps her unwind. Particularly hard to maneuver with a bulletproof vest, she finds. 

Getting out, she gets up to check the windows. Nothing. It's quiet, though a wind is starting to pick up, blowing some leaves across the drive. "Might rain," she looks back at him over her shoulder and then yawns. 

"Come rest. I'll keep watch. They're not like to attack till nightfall, I'd wager." 

"No," she says though how she's relaxed enough to sleep she doesn't understand. Calm before the storm maybe.

"You'll be worthless tired," he tells her and that convinces her enough to lie down and close her eyes. Her bad dreams still steal sleep from her in the night, so a nap couldn't hurt her.

She jolts awake at the shake of Sandor's hand. "Easy, birdie," he tells her in his soothing rasp. Through the window she sees the last tinge of twilight. Her ears soon pick up the crunch of gravel under tires. 

"Who is it?" She asks. 

"Just one car. Likely the FBI feller," he says. That doesn't calm her though. She doesn't want anything to do with the Lannister's. If he's known she was here, why hasn't he delivered her to Cersei? Or just deliver her death certificate?

Sandor grabs his loaded shotgun, and she grabs her trusty Glock. They watch from the window as a tall, blond-haired man leaves the car and crosses to the front door. 

"He looks like a Lannister," she says derisively.

They head downstairs, and Sandor cracks the door open, "Who is it?" 

"Jaime Lannister, FBI," the man answers with bemused charm.

Their guns still out, Sandor opens the door to let the man in, saying "We were expecting you."

"Jesus Christ, is this _Deliverance_?" He looks at both of them armed with feigned surprise. 

"Ha ha," Sandor fake laughs. 

"What the fuck do you want with me?" Sansa raises her weapon, and that makes his face turn serious and look toward her gun. 

"Sansa," Sandor says, stern, "Lower your weapon." The look he gives her is not to be negotiated with either. She sighs, doing so, and turns to leave before he grabs her shoulder. 

It's Jaime that talks though. "Sansa, I know this is hard, that you don't trust me."

"Damn right," she breaks in.

He continues, "But I'm sorry for what my family has done and want to make it up to you if I can."

"My parents are dead. And my brother," she seethes at him, and Sandor immediately takes her weapon before she raises it again, removing his hand from her shoulder.

"And I'll die before you do," he swears to her, unblinking with a severe truth to it she's never heard in a Lannister's words. She soaks it in for a moment before deciding to laugh as though it's another Lannister joke.

"I mean it," he says in response. 

"Not sure I'd rather rot in prison than die," she challenges.

"That won't happen," he says with conviction. "So you've been with Newman all this time before running away from Ramsay Bolton of all people," He cocks his jaw considering her. "No simple task." 

"He seems to underestimate sixteen-year-old girls," she says with a dead-flat tone.

"I won't do the same then," Jaime smiles with cheek. "Wasn't sure if he'd double crossed us or not, but here you are in the flesh." He gestures to her. "Newman that is, or rather, Uncle Peter as you know him."

"Tread carefully," Sandor says with spite. "You won't make light of that fucking uncle and what he did in my presence."

Jaime nods, looking about the house. "May I sit?" 

Sandor motions to the kitchen table. She sits down with Jaime as Sandor rustles up some dinner. 

"Sansa did you know that Newman, or Baelish rather, had been the one to betray your father to Cersei, making him think she'd see reason over the fraud in the bank?" He mentions, as though merely curious.

"What?" She says at first then shakes her head, "I can't believe anything you say." 

"You can't believe anything Newman says either evidently," Jaime raises his eyebrows and then huffs a laugh. "Seriously though, I think she would have let him go alive without a cent after he signed over his shares. Many say it was Newman who assisted Joffrey in impulsively taking your father out instead, leaving you with your fortune."

"That's ridiculous," she says, moving to get up, but Jaime puts a hand on hers stopping her.

"Think about," he says, "If it's true Baelish loved your mother, killing your father would leave her available to him and still rich."

"But since he was on your side, why did he let the Bolton’s kill her?" Sansa's head is starting to hurt.

Jaime’s brows rise as he tries to convince her, "I don't think he planned on that happening. Hence why he betrayed us in the plot that killed Joffrey and put you in his custody. Revenge you said is what you wanted with the Bolton's. Maybe he was sincere in that."

The pieces are starting to fall together in a new way. A way that points to Peter. She mumbles, "He did love my mother." She knows the truth of that, and it hurts. To think he never really loved her as Sansa.

Jaime says, “That’s why we need you. You’re the only one alive who can testify and prove this. That’s how we’ll put him away.”

He may be right about all this, it makes sense, she hates to admit to herself. Sandor brings her grilled cheese and soup she eats absentmindedly. 

"You alright?" Sandor asks her. She merely nods.

"A lot to take in," Jaime says with his annoyingly arrogant charm.  "Y'all," he affects a drawl, "really think the Bolton’s are here?"

"Yes," she answers, not looking up from her food. 

"Can you elaborate?" He says.

She looks up now, finding Sandor's reassuring gray eyes before direct herself the green ones she's learned to distrust. "I know him. He's going to kill me or die trying." 

Sandor's hand reaches for hers, "That's not going to happen," he tries to reassure her. 

"Pretty sure he doesn't like it when prey gets away," she says in a flat tone, but her words seem to chill the air. 

"Early findings I'm getting from Brienne are grisly at best." Jaime brings up, almost apologetic in tone. The implications hang in the air for a moment in silence.

“So what is your plan? Staying holed up here and wait it out in vests?” He grins at them both. Must be an amusing sight for an FBI director.   
  
“I’ve got my closet set up as a safe room for her, in case,” Sandor points out, clearly not amused himself. “We’ve loaded some weapons and are keeping watching from upstairs. Good view of the drive with a pair of rifles.”

“If, if you’re right, they know you’ll be expecting them this time, so there will be a lot of them,” Jaime notes, “Especially if Ramsay is with them, let alone Roose.” He seems to think something over for a moment. “Perhaps we should get ourselves to a safer place.”

“I’m not going to hide away, waiting for some knife in the dark,” she says straight to him. “I want this chance.” To end him, she thinks to herself.

Jaime frowns, considering her. “Fine, I’ll play bodyguard tonight,” he huffs, getting up to head back out to his car. She already knew he had a handgun on him when he was here, but when he steps back in the door, he has the most beautiful sniper rifle she’s ever seen. And we’re not talking filigree, the thing is a beast with probably the best scope money can buy.

“I’ll take the downstairs,” he tells them, dragging a chair over to a front window and sitting back with his legs propped up.

Sandor turns all the lights on around the house and checks the alarm system settings before they head upstairs. Lying there, she digests her conversation with Jaime as they wait, avoiding sleep. The distraction of the internet helps, but they still stay attuned for any change outside, feeling on edge.

Sandor sighs as midnight approaches and heads down saying something about coffee. She stands up to look out the window as she hears the rain start to patter on the roof and her eyes scan the drive again, looking for any change. Her phone starts to vibrate in her pocket, and she thinks, who would be calling me now? She pulls it out to see an unknown number, and dread grips her. Shit!

She answers, “Hello.”

“Princess,” she hears his sarcastic voice on the other end. Ramsay. Her adrenaline is pumping, making her breathing shallow and tremble make it’s way into her hands.

When she doesn’t answer, he continues, “I’ve had a lovely evening with a friend of yours.” What? Are Emily and Jacks okay? “Would you like to talk to him?” Ramsay asks.

She can’t seem to speak, but he must lower the phone to his captive because she hears Dylan’s voice, desperate and hollow. “Sansa,” he says, and then she hears Ramsay’s mocking laugh that sends shivers through her.

“Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,” he says, “What am I to do with my runaway bride?”

She still can’t seem to make any sound, so he yells, “Say something!”

“I don’t know,” she whimpers, feeling like she’s back under his mercy in that dark, little room.

“I know,” Ramsay says, “I know exactly what I want.”

“What is that?” She asks, not wanting to deal with his toying.

“An exchange of sorts. If you want your friend to live, you must return to me,” he lays it out, and the thought tortures her. What is to be done? “You won’t be my bride anymore, you’ll be my slave, princess,” he adds.

“Like that’s any fucking different to you,” she finds her footing against him. She hears a thud and then the cries from a wounded Dylan. Fuck, what is she thinking?

“Still got some bite, I see, good,” Ramsay says.

“Where?” She says, wanting to get this over with. If this is to be her doom, then so be it. Dylan did nothing to deserve to be in the hands of Ramsay.

“Sending you a map, be there 3:00 a.m. alone,” he says before the call ends abruptly.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV: Going after Ramsay

"Coffee?" Sandor offers a cup to Jaime.

"Very good," he says, taking it.

They stare out the drive in silence until they hear her come down the stairs. "There's coffee," he tells her, but he can tell something's not right by the look on her face. He follows her to the kitchen.

"Sansa, what is it?" He asks her, his brow pinched.

She exhales sharply, turning to him, "It's really annoying how you can always tell something's up and then have to know."

"Can read you look one of your books," he smirks.

"I need the laptop," she says after fixing a cup and heading to the kitchen table.

"Okay," he goes to retrieve it as Jaime sits down with her. Finding it, he sets it down and takes the chair next to her. She's got her phone out and is bringing up a map on the computer.

"Just tell me," he says, losing his patience. 

"He called me when you were down here. He's got Dylan, wants me to come, and then he'll let him go." He doesn’t have to ask who the fucker is – he knows she avoids saying his name more than any other.

"And then, what? He'll take you. Over my dead body," he reacts, his anger spiking after brewing all evening in wait.

"Those aren't idle words in this scenario," Jaime comments, "I don't like this. Too much to go wrong."

"Well, he said alone, 3:00 a.m., here." She points to the screen. Jaime comes around to see.

"You're not going there. I don't want you anywhere near there," Sandor says.

"I hate I got Dylan into this, I've got to do this," she says.

"Shush," Jaime abruptly interrupts them, pushing in between them in focus on the map. "All we need is a plan, and there's limited time. I'm calling in a SWAT force to serve as my backup. Do either of you know this area we're talking about?"

"Zoom out," he tells her, when he sees the roads leading out, he grimaces, "Yeah, I know this neck of the woods. Looks like out in LaFollette where Emily used to go. I been out there," Zooming back in a little, he points out, "There's where some trailers are where they cook meth. He's having us meet him here, but he's probably set up over here where the bike gang is. Only connection I can imagine him having."

"Hmm," Jaime considers before saying, "He's probably counting on Brienne being tied up in Florida, and that you wouldn't have any support other than Sandor who he'll kill on sight." Jaime frowns, his eyes glued to the screen.

 Feeling somewhat shaken, Sandor can't help but admit, "Good thing you're here." They would've been up shit creek otherwise.

Jaime chuckles, "And good thing I brought my rifle. Night vision, baby." Sansa rolls her eyes, but Jaime continues, almost excited, "I've got a tentative plan, need to make a few phone calls, to settle everything but should work." He goes in the living room, leaving them at the table.

"What do you think?" Sansa looks up at him, seeming discouraged and uncertain.

"I think our best bet is this blonde feller," he puts his hand out for her. "I can't exactly run into the woods, guns blazing without some authority as much as I hate to admit it. You're my priority in this though." That would be something, to fucking gun 'em all down.

"I know Ramsay," she says as she quickly takes his hand. "If I went there alone, he'd just slit Dylan's throat right in front of me, laughing, if he weren't already dead. He'll do the same with this Lannister’s plan. Either way, I've probably gotten Dylan killed, not to mention tortured." She shakes and then takes a deep breath, exhaling hard to regain composure. 

He squeezes her little hand, telling her, "Listen to me, birdie. You can't control other people. You can only control what you do, okay? You did the right thing telling me and Jaime." She nods, taking another deep breath. He gets another cup of coffee as they wait for Jaime. 

As he comes back to the table, Sansa tells him, "Thanks for everything, Sandor. I really appreciate what you and Emily have done for me." She gives him the saddest smile possible. She thinks this is the end that she won’t make it or she’ll be taken.

"Don't talk like that. I'm supposed to be the fucking realist, girl," he tells her. "I can't imagine this Jaime would put you in harm's way. You will be fine. The idiot probably doesn’t realize he gave a fucking FBI director a road map to where he is." She cracks a bit of a smile. He's not going to let anything happen to her. They'll try to save Dylan, and they'll damn well try, but that's it.

But when Jaime comes over and clues them in on the plan, he's pissed as all get out, "You're going to let her right into his grasp, like hell. That's the best you got?"

"We need to draw him out, he may even not be there for the exchange," Jaime explains. “We’ll put a tracker on Sansa, wire, all of it.”

"I'll do it," Sansa speaks up.

"Sansa," he says, upset. “You don’t have to do this. Don’t be a fucking martyr.”

"Sandor, I can do this," she gives him a fuck-you look. “Don’t you see I want to take this motherfucker down? I’m not fucking helpless.” He’s not happy about it, but at least the plan has put some steel back in her.

Jaime tries to convince him, “Sandor, against all protocol, you’ll be with me, only because you were a SEAL and you know the area, okay? We’ll be closest to her, and if she has to go meet Ramsay somewhere else, we’ll be the first ones on the trail.”

He doesn’t nod or anything, but his silence is agreement enough as he glares at both of them. Putting her out there like this, a bullet and she could be dead.

Jaime continues, “Sansa, I’ll need your help to identify him, night vision can only do so much, so make sure to say his name and face toward him if he’s there. Remember, we’ll try to take him alive, but if shit goes bad, which it’s likely to, get yourself on the ground. Do whatever you have to. I’ll have my scope trained on Ramsay if he’s visible. If you see him go down, get yourself to the ground.”

“Okay, okay,” she says. “I get a gun, right?”

Jaime hesitates but then says, supplicating, “You may have a knife in your shoe. It’s likely you’ll get patted down.” She shakes her head, upset.

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” Sansa says with her own pride.

“We’ve not much more time,” Jaime says. “We need to get you outfitted,” he points to Sansa. “And then we,” he points to Sandor, “need to go so we can get set up before she even gets there.”

“Let’s get a move on,” he says, getting up, and they set to work. After the SWAT team arrives, and they get everything situated, Sandor heads out with Jaime. The SWAT detail will come in behind Sansa.

Going a back way into the camp, they leave the car out of sight near the meth trailers between the biker compound and the clearing for the meeting. Giving the trailers a wide berth, they stalk into the woods down a trail between the two only lit by the moon. Getting closer, they can make out some high beams and talk emanating from the location Sansa had been sent. They’ve got another ten – fifteen minutes. They find about as clear a view through the trees as possible without being too close or exposed. Jaime allowed him to bring his rifle as backup, so he slings it from his shoulder as they get down to their spot near a log. Jaime sets up his sniper rifle, trained toward the clearing, and stretches out. Sandor follows suit, pulling out his binoculars to see what he can.

Jaime’s looking into his scope, playing with the focus. “Shit,” Jaime curses, and Sandor feels the hairs go up on his arm. “There’s about four trucks, and I count with the thermal about a dozen or so men. Hard to tell if any of them are Ramsay. More than I thought,” he admits. Fuck, and the little bird will be walking right into that. 

The wait to 3:00 a.m. seems like a whole fucking hour or more. Right before, they hear a truck from the direction of the biker compound come back around the shitty dirt road they came in and head towards the gathering. Hopefully they didn’t spot the car. They pull up near the center of the circle. “That’ll be Ramsay with Dylan,” Jaime says, and he was thinking the same thing.

Sansa’s having to make it on her scooter despite his protests in order to play up the charade she’s alone. Soon they hear her little machine make it’s way down the gravel road toward the clearing. “I’m almost there,” she lets them know over the mike. If his adrenaline wasn’t pumping before, it certainly is now. It’s hard enough to breathe, but when she stops and steps into the beam of the truck headlights, he seems to hold it. “I hate you,” he says to Jaime, seeing her surrounded by enemies.

Jaime stays focused on his scope, and they hear some muffled sounds over their earpiece as she walks forward. “Where’s your friend? Clegane, right? I was so looking forward to killing him.” He hears him but doesn’t see him, must be staying out of the light.

“Ramsay,” they hear her say, moving slightly and Jaime’s rifle pivots with her, “I’m here. Let Dylan go.” He picks up his rifle, setting it on the log in front of him, hoping to find someone dumb enough to stand out. That’s when he sees a man come up to Sansa out of the darkness. She pulls away as he roughly pats her down, making sure to grope her. He’s a dead man.

“Nothing rash,” he hears Jaime next to him, and it brings him back.

“Bulletproof vest, huh? Scared of us?” The man laughs at her, and they hear the muffled laughter of the other men. Then, they can hear the straps being broken and can see in the faint light him shucking it off her. Fuck, Sandor thinks. The man doesn’t appear done as he goes back to her torso for her shirt, but Sansa reacts, kneeing him in the groin and kicking him to the ground. They hear some men snicker, and the man stands up to point a gun in her face.

“Fuck, kill him,” Sandor says, but Jaime doesn’t react.

“Rider,” they hear Ramsay again, a reproving tone toward his man, and he steps into the light, putting a hand on his man.

“I’m here,” Sansa raises her voice, directing it to Ramsay, “Now let Dylan go.”

“Oh yes, your friend. He’s been mildly entertaining. Did you miss me, princess? I missed you,” he says over the mike, coming towards Sansa and running a hand over her face and then through her hair. Sandor seizes up inside to watch. "You wouldn't try something like that with me again, would you?" She stands tall, emphasizing her height over this man, and stays rigid at his attention. Her hand moves, and he grabs it tightly. He appears to pull out something to restrain her hands.

"Zip ties?" Sansa scoffs into the mike, letting them know. Then she gasps, saying "Dylan," and he moves his scope to see her friend being brought into the light, a knife at his throat. Ramsay turns, takes the knife, and starts carving thin lines over Dylan’s bare chest. 

“So obvious that you were going to kill him anyways,” Sansa calls out, and it must surprise Ramsay as he turns back to her. He stays like that a moment before abruptly turning back to Dylan, his arm starting to rise with the knife in a sure grip. He is absorbed at watching the scene unfold, so he’s startled when Jaime’s rifle goes off next to him. He watches Ramsay shot in the same moment, the knife falling while the man crumples. Suddenly understanding, he aims his rifle to take out the one behind Dylan.

“Down, Dylan,” they hear Sansa’s voice over the mike, and he moves his scope to see her on the ground as the firefight takes over. Jaime next to him is aiming and shooting on repeat as men jump out of the trucks and head their direction. The sound of a machine gun starting fills the air, but Jaime tumbles to the side, aiming again and silencing it. He takes out a fucker closing in on them down the path when moonlight hits him. Sandor then sees the red lines of light of the SWAT team coming in to finish the job, and soon all is silent again. The sound over the mike of her still panting on the ground fills him with relief.

Jaime is speaking to the SWAT team over his own devices, but Sandor interrupts, asking him, “All clear? I’m going for Sansa,” and starts getting up. Jaime’s getting up himself and nods to him. He follows the path with his arms slightly raised, moving toward where she is.

When he’s near the clearing, he sees a member of the SWAT team helping her up. She’s looking another direction though, and his eyes follow to see a shaking Dylan still on the ground. He walks over to the kid and helps him up. He takes off his jacket and wraps it around him, noticing some nasty wounds though only superficial it seems. Sandor leans him against a nearby truck. He still seems terrified. He did nearly die.

“Have you called an ambulance?” Sansa is asking the team members as they search the trucks.

“An ambulance. Now.” Sandor says louder to get their attention.

“Yes, we’ve got several coming,” an officer comes over to tell them. “Is it just the boy?”

“Yes,” he tells them.

Sansa looks at Dylan, “I’m sorry, Dylan. I’m so sorry.”

The boy’s eyes rise from the ground to look at the little bird, some of the blankness going away. He nods at her.

They don’t have to wait long until the ambulance comes to take him. Sansa won’t leave his side though, so he reluctantly parts with her, promising to meet her at the hospital. He turns to see Jaime talking with whoever lead the SWAT detail probably, so he decides to let Em know they’re fine.

Pulling out his phone he calls her, but she doesn’t answer. It is about 3:30 a.m. though. A lot can happen in a short amount of time. He leaves her a voicemail and rejoins Jaime who hands him the keys to the car. Guess he’ll be busy here for awhile, so he walks back, hoping this is the last time he has any reason to be here.

At the hospital, he finds a pissed-off Sansa in the emergency room. As soon as she sees him, she’s spouting off, “They separated me from him, and now his parents won’t even let me see him.”

“Fuck that,” he says, and she almost seems startled he agrees with her. They walk over to where he’s at, and he introduces himself to his parents.

“Please understand we do not wish to have her around our son,” the step-father, if he remembers correctly, says.

“Your son would probably not be alive if it weren’t for me,” he pushes back.

“And he wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for her,” the man says with as much grit, pointing at Sansa in a way he dislikes greatly.

“Sansa,” they hear Dylan call behind the sheet, sounding frail.

“It’s okay, Fred,” the mother seems to cave, and Sansa is quick to push past them to be next to Dylan. He lets her have her time, scowling at the step-father before heading back to the lobby to wait for her, which consists of closing his eyes to cat nap.

She comes back after thirty minutes or so, poking him awake. “Dylan said thanks,” she lets him know and takes the seat next to him. “Thanks from me, too,” she tells him.

He yawns, sitting up in the shitty chair. “No problem, birdie,” he smirks down at her.

“Can we just crawl up and go to sleep?” She says next, setting her head against his arm.

He gives her a look, “Come on. We’ll go home. My bed’s calling me, and you have your own, missy.”

Still, as he drives her back in Jaime’s car, his hand finds hers, and he wants to hold onto it, knowing she’s okay. She lets go a breath, seeming to relax, and smiles tentatively over to him.

“At least he’s dead now,” he tells her. "And there’ll be no trial." 

“I just wish it could’ve been me,” she said. “I felt so helpless watching him about to stab Dylan when one of you shot him.”

“It was Jaime,” he tells her. “I got the one after that.” She nods, and he squeezes her hand, telling her, “You did really good.”

He tucks her into bed, and she looks so sad that he’s not joining her. She’s got to understand though, it’s not right. Plus she needs to learn she shouldn’t get her way all the time. He pets her hair a moment, telling her, “I was so scared for you tonight. You’re very special to me.” She brightens some, her eyes glowing under his gaze, and it almost hurts how pretty she is. To think she’s been through so much. “Try to get some rest,” he tells her, giving a little kiss to her forehead and then heading to his own bed.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been awhile. I've got a new job, plus starting my garden and such, so have little time to write. Plus last chapter was the end of a section of plot, so had to get more defined plan in place for next part. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Warning for some disturbing revelations from Sansa.

 

"I don't know what to do. He's like not there. I haven't seen him smile, let alone joke since it happened," Sansa tells Em while they close up the salon for the night. "And you know Dylan." Her newly polished nails are already slightly messed up from her fretting as she haltingly remembers the correct codes to run the credit card machine for the end of the day.

"It'll just take time," Em says, her head cocked as she counts off tips.

"Ahh, why do I have to be such a dumbass?" She says with strain.

"Will you stop beating yourself up?" Em gives her a look. “Unless you screwed up the credit machine again.” She stops to look shrewdly as the machine spits out the batch information.

"Seems to be working,” she motions with her palms up, helpless to the magic of electronics. Sansa continues, flustered, “He won't talk about it, won't come over,"

"What do you think you're like sometimes?" Emily asks, catching her eye and dropping to a softer tone. 

Sansa exhales hard, then glares at Emily, which only serves to make her smile, amused.

"My brother's told me a lot, honey. You don't have to be alone. There’s something I want to say though, heaven, please don't even try drugs, especially hard drugs. That's a line you cross and it's crossed. Some people get off on crossing those lines, but it changes you. Sorry, I’m just going to tell you like I see it, no hem-hawing around."

"I don't want to do that," Sansa says in all truth. 

"Good, I hope you keep that. If you start feeling like you have no other choice, come talk to me, and we'll figure it out. Sex, men, that's it's own drug, too, don't forget that." Emily tells her. She stays silent now, not sure where she stands in that regard. 

"Let's get home," Emily says next as she adjusts her purse onto her shoulder. 

As they're driving back to the house, Sansa stares out at the leaves changing from the passenger window, her mind turning over things. "Something on your mind?" Emily asks, and Sansa bites her lip at how transparent she’s being. It’s just Emily though, and she knows she doesn’t tell Sandor everything they talk about together. She knows she told him about the kiss at the school, but she’s pretty sure Emily has mentioned her prior sleeping arrangements to Sandor. That was a slip on her part.

"How do you know if you love someone?" She asks, feeling stupid immediately that the question escaped her. "I mean, nevermind, just ignore that."

"Is this about Sandor?" Emily asks, as tentative as can be. 

"No," Sansa says, not thinking about that. "I just miss Peter sometimes, but I'm not supposed to or whatever. I thought I did is the only thing." She takes a deep breath, looking over at Emily. 

She replies calm, "I know I can't say I was in the same exact situation, but it was awful when Jackson's dad left me. I had to get clean because I was pregnant, too, so I went to a dark place I hope never to return to. I missed the drugs as much as him, and San was still gone. I could not believe after everything he was just gone, left me."

Emily takes a steadying breath before continuing, "Don't tell Sandor, but everything’s not black and white how he sees it, there’s a lot of gray. I know it was wrong now, but it happened, they were my choices, fucked up by being young granted and thinking myself in love, but I can't change what happened. I choose not to regret, just close that chapter, deal with it when I need to but otherwise move on. I know right now you may think you loved him, but later you might see how you were used.”

Emily glances over to see if she’s still listening, and Sansa nods. Emily’s hand nearest her points to emphasize, “You have to be careful of that, especially as a woman. Men will promise you everything but really just use you until they're done with you, then move on without a thought to your welfare. If only I can find a man I like to fuck who will also be there for me. Who knows maybe John's the one." She says doubtfully, and Sansa can feel the bitterness she’s carried. She understands how it can feel foolish to hope. Then Emily adds sarcastically, "Sorry to paint such a pretty picture." 

Sansa huffs a laugh. "I kind of know now, know how fucked up it all was. I just don't feel it.”

"It's hard to accept. What's hard is letting go of the good, too." Emily says.

"Yeah," Sansa says, her breath catches as it hits her. Fuck. She doesn't want to let go of the man that taught her how to shoot, made her really think – she thought he believed in her! But he left her with Ramsay. How could he not have known? And then all that shit Jaime Lannister was saying. "Like he even used a different name to join the CIA. How does someone even do that?" Sansa lets go of one thing that irks her.

"Hell if I know," Emily commiserates.

"And there's so much more. What he'd tell me, does the means matter more than the result? But what even is the result? I thought he wanted me, and here we are."

"I don't know, Sansa," Emily says, but she doesn't need to hear her. She sees everything going over the edge of a waterfall while she wishes she could hold onto parts of it. Pretend it doesn't matter when her lifeblood seems to be flowing away over the edge, too. Who is she now if she has to shed who she became for him?

“It’s good you’re not with him in many ways. Think about this, you have a chance to see it from a different perspective now that you’re away. And time does make a difference, even if what’s done to you never goes away,” Emily adds as they pull onto the gravel drive to the house.

When Sandor asks what's wrong over dinner, Emily silences him by saying, "We talked." She looks up at him then, wondering if he'll always care for her like this. Despite the scars, the look of him, his strong features, dark eyes and hair in contrast to his skin, and the strength covering his large frame, it all pulls at her in its masculine perfection, but is she enough to match it? The darkness in him beckons to her, like it could understand her own, but maybe it’s all pointless, short-sighted. How could she satisfy a man with such wildness in him forever?

After dinner, she pours into a book up in the room she shares with Emily and hopes it keeps away her nightmares. His face is clearer in them now since she saw him so close in the headlights, his fingers on her and in her hair, and the smug tone of his voice. Never does she dream his death. No, she remembers the zip ties bearing into her wrists and imagines being hauled away in the back of his truck, awaiting her fate, no sign of Brienne, Sandor, or the Lannister man. It almost seemed unreal in life that he is truly dead. She wishes it was her bullet, but she's relieved Jaime Lannister did it, ended his life. She doesn't trust this win though. Roose is out there, and he's a patient man. 

She hears a knock on the door and sees Sandor edge in from the doorway with hesitation. She sucks in a breath after her earlier musings but smiles when she notices his uneasy stance with his hair falling over part of his face “Hey," she says, breaking the silence.

He clears his throat and settles his arms across his chest, then tells her, "Brienne is back from Florida, so Jaime's left. She wants to come talk to you tomorrow."

"Alright," she gives him a small smile and rests her legs down from where they were bent in front of her to hold her book.

"Emily said you're still having the nightmares?" He turns it into a question.

"I just can't believe he's dead," Sansa shakes her head. 

"Yeah, it was sudden." Sandor says. "You don't dream about your uncle?"

"I haven't," she answers, though he's in her thoughts more than Ramsay. "How's the job?" She asks, changing the subject.

He shrugs, "It's alright. If the guy I replaced comes back from disability, I'll be back to long-haul." He snorts, "And shittier routes after being away."

"I'm sorry," she says. 

"I'm glad I was here," he looks her square in the eye then, so she doesn't protest, though it brings up the feeling she's just a problem to everyone. "Talking to Emily help?" He asks, and she smiles now that he gets to the heart of his inquiry. He acts like it’s of no consequence, but he’s curious of their conversations.

"I guess," she says simply. 

"Good you're working at the salon," he asserts, not showing his disappointment she didn’t elaborate.

"And not selling myself on the internet? I've heard worn panties are popular." She smirks, enjoying the flash of anger in his eyes. 

“Sansa,” he draws out in a reproving tone.

Her smile is content as she returns to her book, “Don’t worry.”

He chuckles, his hand rubbing his good side, “Like that’ll stop happening. Tried not to, but somehow I’ve been worrying about you since you crawled up into my cab, birdie.”

“Aww,” she says playfully. He chuckles again before sliding back out of her doorway. She hates how she can feel the dearth of his attention immediately. It reminds her of Peter but different; still, she’s not sure that’s a good thing.

When Emily comes up to bed, Sansa tells her, “Sandor tried to get out of me what I was talking to you about earlier.”

Emily laughs, “Oh yes, he cornered me after dinner to know what’s up, if I was ‘helping’ you? He has a sense about these things.”

She smiles at Emily, basking in the feeling of his care. A new nagging question escapes her though, “What happens when I’m not pretty anymore?”

Emily chuckles, “You’ve got a long time till then, Sansa. You don’t think I’m there yet, do you?”

“Oh no!” Sansa gasps, not thinking her question would come out like that.

“Some girls don’t get the luxury of being pretty either,” Emily eyes her. “You know what it’s like to be on your own. It can be good to share the load with someone, like it’s good to have my brother, but that’s different than being dependent. Never put yourself in a position where you’re too vulnerable. If I didn’t work and Sandor got hit by a truck tomorrow, I would first of all be depressed as fuck, but I could lose this house, would get hard to take care of Jacks. Men might make you feel stable, but money’s better.” She laughs then. “Any other worries, honey?”

“I guess not,” she says, considering her answer. “So have like a fall-back plan?”

“Yes, not to be confused with fall-back man,” Emily grins at her, and they both laugh loud. Maybe Sandor heard them and will be wondering what they’re talking about now, she smiles to herself, but then another nagging matter crosses her mind. It’s something she can only imagine talking to Emily about.

“There is something else?” Emily crinkles her brow at her from the other side of the bed.

Sansa looks down at her hands interlocking together, “It’s probably nothing. I mean, I’m not really regular anyways, but I haven’t had a period in awhile.”

“When was your last one?” Emily asks, and Sansa peeks up to see the most serious look she’s ever seen on her face, her eyes wide and focused when before they were ready for sleep.

“I remember bleeding when I was in Florida,” she bites her lip, “but it was intermittent. Before that, I’m not sure, it’s so long ago.”

“Regardless,” Emily says the word almost as a way to compose herself, “it would be good for you to have a health checkup. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner. We will go to the clinic tomorrow. No matter about school.”

Sansa breathes a sigh of relief, feeling a little better that they have a plan. Denying it had become harder and harder as weeks went on.

“You’ve been here about six or seven weeks, right?” Emily asks to confirm.

“I guess, and I was on the road with Sandor less than a week,” Sansa says.

“Do you know how long you were in Florida?”

“He wouldn’t let me count the days, so I lost track,” Sansa says without hesitation. She can see Emily’s heart break for her in her eyes and has to look away.

“I’m sorry,” Emily says quietly. “We’ll see a doctor tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Sansa nods and turns over to sleep.

The next morning, she comes down with Emily, clawing the sleep out of her eyes. She smiles to see Sandor, already making coffee and setting out his food. He leaves so early now.

“You’re up early,” he says to her with a smirk that she wishes could truly erase the panic she feels for this day. What will she do if she’s pregnant? Emily didn’t say it, but when she said clinic, Sansa knew what she meant. She would kill to have her mother with her right now, she’d settle for Arya even.

“No comeback?” Sandor asks her with narrowed eyes.

“Sorry,” she gives him a sad smile as she heads to the coffee pot.

“Normal day, right?” he says, looking at Emily.

Emily gives her a little smile as she answers, “Yeah. I got to go get Jacks up. Watch the eggs, Sansa.”

“Okay,” she says, taking the spatula from Emily. “Going to stick around for breakfast?” She asks Sandor.

His eyes go to the time, “Matters how fast your are, birdie.”

“I’ll be quick,” she grabs the bread to make some quick toast, setting out the butter and jam.

“What do you have at school today?” He asks.

“Well, I’m having to make up math assignments, which is a drag. I was going to just fail, but someone talked to my teacher and set up some sort of plan to salvage this quarter,” she looks at him, knowing full well it was him.

“That’s good for you. Someone looking out for your best interest,” he tells her with a smirk. “Your teacher did call me, so you know.”

“Too bad I won’t be there,” she feels the urge to throw at him but then could kill herself for her slip.

“I will see you personally to school today if I have to,” he says, his eyes bearing down on her, assuming she’s skipping on her own accord. Well, she is but with good reason.

Emily comes down with Jacks at this moment, and before she can explain anything, Sandor says in a harsh, louder tone to his sister, “Sansa told me she’s going to skip school today. Can you believe it? Not even sneaking around. Just fuck you and all you do to my face.” Her eyes go wide, he’s taking this very badly.

“You told him what?” Emily looks to her.

“You know about this?” Sandor looks agape at his sister, shaking his head. Sansa sighs, focusing instead on plating up the food quickly, so they aren’t all late.

If you can eat angrily, Sandor definitely did that in how he shoveled in her offerings, as though showing his rage in how he eats her food is somehow effective. “I’m going to be late now,” he says with all his spite. Jacks looks at both of them sheepishly before heading to the table on the far end from his uncle. She feels kind of bad now for provoking him, especially in front of Jacks.

“Sandor,” Emily takes a no-nonsense tone as she walks purposefully over to her brother. “Sansa and I have to go somewhere today. I’m sorry I did not tell you that earlier, but we decided last night. I will drop her off at school afterward.” Sandor must know her particular tone because he seems to calm under his sister’s influence.

“Where?” He questions.

“If you needed to know, I would’ve just told you,” she says with bite, taking her seat and laying her napkin across her lap like a queen before starting on her breakfast.

Sandor huffs, giving her an irritated glare as he grabs his lunch and heads out the door. They follow soon after, dropping Jacks off at school before heading downtown. Emily must sense her anxiety because she reaches over to clasp her arm, “Deep breaths,” and even takes some herself.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read Chapter 15 if you missed it since this is the second update today. 
> 
> Sandor POV next, wanted to focus on Sansa right now. Please be aware some of my medical treatment may be off in this chapter, just let me know any glaring errors and I hope I don't offend any of my wonderful readers! :)
> 
> Warning for Peter phone call in this chapter, sex is not explicitly discussed.

After waiting in the clinic lobby, then going over all the information she told Emily last night with the nurse, she has to give urine and blood samples and then be examined. The nurse practitioner is kind and walks her through everything, letting her know when she’ll be touched, but it's still uncomfortable and she feels herself flinch repeatedly. She keeps feeling like something is wrong with her as the nurse practitioner shifts this way and that, and she doesn’t know if her exam is going longer than normal or not. She hears her mention to the nurse, “We need to check her for this infection,” and the nurse pulls out another swab and soon she’s flinching again.

Done, the nurse practitioner sits up and pulls off her gloves, “You appear to have some trauma, how recent was that? There’s some healing tissue and inflammation.”

“About two months ago,” she says, looking around at the room.

“Well, we sent for another test, I think you may have an infection. I’ll call in the medication if it comes back positive. The other test results will come in soon, and the nurse will go over those with you unless I’m needed for one of them. Any questions?”

“Is there like scarring?” Sansa asks, still feeling a bit shaky from the exam.

“No, you appear to be healing. There’s not usually scarring. You may have some discomfort or other problems having sex. Just come back in if you are. Consider seeing a counselor,” she smiles sadly at Sansa.

She nods, feels strange to almost have no scars from such repeated pain. And it would bleed. It feels like there’s an open gash there that she avoids as much as possible. She almost wishes she could walk around like Sandor with half her face burned because then it would be more real. Before the nurse leaves, she asks, “Can you send the woman I came with in? Emily Clegane.”

“Sure,” the nurse smiles at her as she hustles out.

Sansa quickly dons her clothes back on. A few more minutes, and she hears a knock on the door. She gets up, feeling weird to walk after the exam invasion, and opens the door to a worried Emily.

“She’ll come back with the results,” she tells her as she moves back to sit on the table and Emily takes the only chair.

“Yeah, that’s what she said. Exam go okay? I know it’s strange,” Emily asks.

“It was fucking awful,” she says, feeling pitiful.

“I’m sorry,” Emily says.

“Evidently, I have no scars though,” she says.

“That’s good,” Emily sounds hopeful.

“Just feels like there should be, like there is, ya know.”

Emily’s pretty lips purse and stay silent, but her direct gaze gives her all the understanding she needs. Sansa looks up towards the ceiling to combat the wetness gathering in her eyes and tries to switch her mind to other thoughts.

It takes forever for the nurse to return it seems like, but her eyes go wide when the nurse practitioner follows her in. Fuck, I’m definitely pregnant.

“First of all, you aren’t pregnant,” the nurse practitioner says, and her jaw drops and stays there. She turns to Emily who says, “Jesus, thank you,” with relief. Sansa lets out the breath she was evidently holding onto and rubs her hands down her thighs, letting the stress go. “Your hormone levels are off and is probably why you rarely ovulate. This could just be your age, but when you are ready for children you should get your hormones checked again.”

“Wait, what?” Sansa asks

“Don’t freak out. Just know that you could have some infertility issues down the line. I didn’t want to not tell you. This is from the blood test,” the nurse practitioner tells her.

“I might not be able to have children?” She asks.

“That’s not what I’m saying, only that you may need help getting pregnant, okay?” She tries to explain.

“Okay,” Sansa says, spinning with this information she wasn’t planning on receiving. Thank God she’s not pregnant now. She breathes out, looking at Emily again, who smiles at her.

“Everything else was fine, I only wanted to explain that part because I knew you might have questions. The nurse will call you with results of the other test. Have a good day,” she smiles before heading to the door.

“Thanks,” she says to the nurse practitioner as she heads out.

Sansa gets off the table, and Emily comes toward her and pulls her into a hug. “You’re alright,” Emily says, patting her back.

“So you’ll take me to get a tattoo?” Sansa asks, laughing. God, it’s like a huge weight off.

“What?” Emily pulls away, laughing and shaking her head. “You can do that when you’re eighteen. Right next to dating my brother, crazy girl.”

“Good first date idea,” she says in jest, or part jest. Really not a bad idea.

“You think my brother will be easier on you about getting a tattoo?” She laughs at her.

“But he has some.”

“I know, but you’re the little bird. Just wait and see.”

“What if it is a little bird tattoo?” Sansa suggests.

Emily gives her a look as she opens the door for her out of the clinic, “What did I tell you about men? Did you learn anything? Last time I checked my brother’s still a man. Not that I actually check, I believe him on that. All I'm saying is don't get shit tattooed like that, shit that will remind you of some romantic relationship, even after it's over.”

“But he’s different,” she says.

“Trust me, not so different. He’s had a few girlfriends, but nothing ever lasts long,” she tells her.

Sansa hates the sinking feeling in her chest at Emily’s words. Why does she feel like this? She’s never even kissed him.

Getting in the car, Emily must notice her unease because she says, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, he’ll probably forget about the whole date thing when I’m eighteen. I don’t think he even knows my birthday,” Sansa says, trying to dig up some resolve.

“I’m pretty sure he does actually since I had to ask him about it for something when you weren’t there. He won’t forget about it. Just want you to have fair warning.”

“Thanks,” Sansa says, feeling confused.

“You want to go to school?” Emily asks.

“I don’t really want to after everything,” Sansa admits.

“Alright, I’ll just take you home, then I’ll go to the salon.”

After Emily drops her off, Sansa goes straight to her bed for a nap. When she wakes again, she goes down and fixes lunch. Feels good to have the house to herself.

Brienne arrives around the time she would usually get back from school. She offers to make coffee and goes about that as Brienne takes a seat at the table, pulling out several folders.

Sitting down with her own cup and handing one to Brienne, she looks over the array of photographs and papers, Brienne has spread out. She tries to put the morning out of her mind and pretend it’s been a normal day for her to Brienne.

“I don’t mean to overwhelm you, Sansa. I need your help, and I thought it best to show you much of what I have already on the Joffrey Lannister case.”

“You’re going to have a hard time tying Peter physically to anything, and not everyone will believe me,” Sansa states how she sees it.

“True,” Brienne points out.

Sansa takes a deep breath, diving in, “You need to know about the necklace. Peter destroyed it, but it was given to me to wear at the dinner by Dontos. I didn’t know it held the poison at the time.”

“But Newman wasn’t there. Who used the poison?” Brienne looks confused.

“I’d rather not say,” Sansa says honestly. “I don’t actually remember. Peter helped me draw the conclusion after the fact, but I don’t know if that counts. I didn’t actually witness it.”

Brienne pulls out her laptop. “I have all the pictures from the dinner here. If I can determine who was with you...”

“I will tell you that a gem was missing from the necklace.” Sansa does admit.

“If there’s photographic evidence, it could support your claim, whoever it is.” Brienne says, eagerly swiping through photos. “Though it would help if I knew who I was looking for.” She keeps her mouth shut, not wanting to pull the Tyrell’s into this.

“You were seated next to Tyrion Lannister, you know his sister thinks he’s the guilty one? Even if you and Dontos were blamed,” Brienne says next.

“Of course, I do, but I’m pretty certain it wasn’t him,” Sansa answers.

“Here you are again. Alone though,” Brienne’s brow is furrowed.

“I didn’t mingle. I stayed put.” Sansa says, and Brienne breaks to look at her.

“I’m surprised you were even there,” Brienne says, “Joffrey was to announce publicly the bank’s merger with the Tyrell corporation.”

“I’m surprised you have photos of it,” Sansa says flatly. Before Brienne explains, she continues, “He wanted me to be there in disgrace, a reminder of the disgrace of the Stark name. There’s no way he wouldn’t have had me there.” Sansa frowns, remembering her days in New York.

“This is Olenna Tyrell, correct?” Brienne moves on to another photo of her.

“Yep,” Sansa smiles, knowingly. “Still pretty circumstantial, right?”

Brienne is aghast looking at the photo. “But the Tyrell’s had already signed the papers and everything. I mean they’re still connected to the Baratheon’s and Lannister’s. What was the purpose?”

“You really want me to tell you?” Sansa looks at her.

“Yes,” Brienne says severely.

“They wanted Joffrey out, at least Ms. Olenna did. Peter ‘consulted’ with her over this matter. From what I understood Peter was working for the Lannister’s, and now that I know about the CIA thing, I guess in some way through his connections there.”

“Hmm,” Brienne considers, dragging the picture of her and Olenna to another file on her computer. She then does the same with other pictures of Olenna.

“Why did she want Joffrey out?” Brienne asks, more tentative.

“I may have had a conversation with her,” Sansa starts.

This grabs Brienne’s attention. “About what?” she urges.

Sansa’s mouth contorts as she hesitates to relate this part. “Somehow she got me to admit that Joffrey was a monster. It didn’t seem to faze Margaery, but there was a look of confirmation in Ms. Olenna’s face. I think she knew what Joffrey was. He was supposed to be at school, he was about my age now, though he dropped out to ‘work’ at the company. He was evidently making a mockery of the company when he was there, worse than his father. His mother barely reined him in. After my father’s death, it seemed like there was no opportunity for me to leave. I guess since I knew too much. I slowly realized I was some sort of prisoner. His attacks on me only increased until, until you know.”

Brienne nods, mulling this over. Sansa adds, “Don’t know how you’ll prove any of it. I was barely aware of what was going on at the time.”

“Leave that to me,” Brienne gives her a determined look. “This is enough for now. I’ll see if there’s anything else I need about the dinner, but I’ll need more about Peter. You haven’t contacted him again, have you?”

“No, and I haven’t got any money either,” Sansa says.

Brienne starts to say something but stops. “I’ll see you soon. I may have questions about what I find.”

“Okay,” Sansa says, disinterested. “What about Roose?” She speaks up, remembering.

“Oh, there’s a warrant out for his arrest in connection with the evidence from the Florida investigation. I’m sorry about the Ramsay business.”

Sansa looks severely at Brienne, “You know, if Jaime wasn’t here, I’d probably be back in his custody, and Dylan dead.”

“I know, Sansa, it was good that you recognized he might come for you,” Brienne says.

“Be careful who you work with on this,” Sansa says, worried Brienne is too trusting, especially to have worked with local forces in Florida, like not one wouldn’t have tipped off the Bolton’s. “Almost cost me my life.”

“I will be more careful in the future,” Brienne says, almost patronizing, “And I’ll let you know as soon as we have something on Roose Bolton.”

“Thank you,” Sansa says and then sees Brienne to the door.

Alone now in the house, Sansa heads to the fridge, checking the time, and pulls out the meat for tonight’s spaghetti. Might as well get started on dinner. She’s got the beef sizzling in the pan when her phone rings. Unknown number so she doesn’t answer. It rings again, so she answers it with a perturbed sigh and hello.

“Sansa,” she hears Peter’s voice purr across the line, and the spatula is falling from her hand with a thud on the floor.

“Shit,” she curses, picking it up and dropping it in the sink.

“Sansa?” he says her name as a question.

Her heart is already pumping, knowing it’s him on the other end. “Peter?” she answers.

“How are you?” He asks.

“Alive, unlike Ramsay,” she says with a bitter note she’s sure won’t escape him. He did nothing to save her, he’s the one that got her into this, and she won’t forget that. Tell that to her beating heart though.

“I miss you,” he says next, and she can hear the smile in his voice. She says nothing and hates the tears threatening now in her eyes at his sentiment. “I know,” he says, “I told you I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she says, her voice sounding young.

“Sansa, I’m planning to go away for awhile. I want you to come with me. I’ve got a plane ticket with your name on it. All you have to do is get on the plane, and we’ll be together again. We’ll go all around the world. Remember how you wanted to go to Italy?” He speaks to her with his voice that’s always drawn her in.

“I don’t know,” she says.

“You know you’re special to me. I can’t leave without you with me,” he says, a bit of urgency slipping into his composed speech.

Why does she feel yes at the tip of her tongue? She tries to imagine what it will be like, and Peter breaks in to describe it for her, “We’ll stay in all the best places. Have the best wine and food. You’ll see all the sights. We’ll go to Venice and get so lost we have to find a gondolier to get us back.” He chuckles, then adds, “You know we shouldn’t be apart.”

“Peter,” she starts.

He must hear the hesitancy in her voice as he says, “Where else do you want to go? I promise wherever you want.”

The word “promise” stops her. He can’t promise her anything she remembers. He’s used up his promises. “Peter, I’m not going with you. I can’t trust you anymore.”

“Baby, you don’t mean that. I know I taught you that, but it’s different. You can’t trust those people you’re with, that man.”

She huffs, “Don’t. He’s different.”

“What?” Peter says, harsh. “Sansa, you’re getting on that plane, even if I have to come back there and get some sense into you. Do I need to send Luther? I’m very disappointed in you. I would never have taken you back to Ramsay, how could you think that? Believe me now, it will be us, together again. You can’t even know how much I miss you now.”

“Why can’t you send me more of my money?” She asks, not sure what to believe.

“Your trust is entrusted to me, I make those decisions. If you come with me, I will make more of it available to you,” he says. She’s frustrated now. She nearly forgot how everything comes with strings with Peter.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not ready,” she says, remembering how Emily said it was good she’s getting a different perspective on things.

“Sansa,” he says her name harshly, obviously not happy about her lack of cooperation. “If you think you can testify against me, you have no idea how foolish that is. You will live to regret it.” She hears his sharp intake of breath before the line goes dead.

Where the sound of his voice threw her into turmoil now emptiness creeps in to her being. The fire alarm goes off, and she curses again looking at the burning food. She turns off the eye and heads out the door to retrieve more edible dinner for everyone, tucking away her conversation with Peter. Is he really going to come back here?

 


End file.
